


If We Survive

by RJ_Anderson



Series: Darkness and Light [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU from HBP on, Angst, F/M, Pining, Snape gets a temporary glow-up because why not, Snape writes excellent love letters who knew, also no longer teacher-student, and also a shameless allusion to the "In Demand" video by Texas which has Alan Rickman in it, canon compliant up to OotP, even more definitely not underage in this one, lots of lovely things that go boom, spies spies everywhere, this time you get John Donne allusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-05
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 06:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ_Anderson/pseuds/RJ_Anderson
Summary: As the second war against Voldemort begins, Maud Moody and Snape face an indefinite separation. Can their partnership endure the ultimate test?





	1. Though I Must Go

PART ONE

_A hush lies over the countryside this evening, a mystical stillness that hints at the coming of rain. A rumpled blanket of cloud, heavy with warmth and moisture, unfolds itself from the east; to the west the sun sinks toward the horizon in an ecstasy of purple and gold._

_As she walks across the downs toward the ocean, she is acutely conscious of the musky scent of the grass beneath her feet, the taste of sea-salt on her lips. Every cell in her body seems to tingle with heightened awareness; she throws back her head, breathing deeply of the electric air._

_At the cliff's edge she pauses, watching the waves surge against the rocks below, fingers of foam raking the pebbled beach. Her ears echo with the roar of the breakers, a gull's passionate, falling cry. The breeze pulls at her robes and her hair with mounting persistence; she sinks to her knees and sits motionless, gazing out across the sea._

_And remembering..._

#

_Chapter One: Though I Must Go_

"Snape's giving back our assignments today," said George, and then, innocently, "Wonder who'll get the top mark?"

Maud sighed and leaned her head back against the wall of the travelling closet. Cramped as it might be, it was one of the few places at Hogwarts where she could relax - though not, it seemed, today. "George-"

"Took him long enough to grade them, didn't it? Ah, well, suppose all that snogging's bound to tire a man out."

"Don't," she said very softly.

For a moment George's mouth took on a stubborn set: then he seemed to remember who he was talking to, and relented. "Sorry. I'm in a bit of a mood. Not fair to take it out on you, though."

"What's the matter?" asked Maud, laying aside her quill and giving him her full attention. If George were in bad enough temper to be snarky with her - especially about her relationship with Snape, a subject he normally avoided - it must be serious.

"What do you think? That cow Umbridge again. Fred and I are both fed up, and thinking we might not hang about much longer if things don't change soon."

"You mean... leave Hogwarts? Without your NEWTs?"

"Why not? We're banned from playing Quidditch, the DA's broken up, Dumbledore's gone - who cares about school now? Besides, Fred and I reckon we're just about ready to make a go of _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_, and we don't need our NEWTs to do that."

"True," said Maud with some reluctance, "but I wouldn't limit my options, if I were you."

"Good thing you're not, then," said George cheekily. "Anyway, you don't know what you're going to do after Hogwarts either - do you?"

"No," she admitted. "I've thought about a few things, but... nothing quite seems to fit."

"Well, _I'd_ hire you." He grinned. "Pity Fred's too cheap."

"Oh, yes, pity," said Maud with heavy sarcasm. In the last few months, she'd learned to be sceptical of anything George claimed was his twin's fault. Since Fred knew nothing of their meetings and therefore couldn't defend himself, blaming him for everything had become George's standing joke.

"Mind you," George went on, "if one day we just happened to bump into each other at the Leaky Cauldron..." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"You never know," said Maud. "I might even decide it's not beneath my dignity as a former Slytherin to talk to you."

"So you wouldn't mind staying on as a consultant? Unofficial, of course."

Maud smiled. "You mean_ unpaid_, of course."

"Hey!" George scowled at her. "No, I didn't. We might be just starting out, but we've got a few Galleons to rub together - and we've got our pride."

"Sorry." She was taken aback by his fierceness. "No offence meant. But really, George - there'd be no need to pay me just for an occasional bit of advice on potions ingredients. I've come into my inheritance now, I'm really quite well off-"

"Belt up and don't argue," said George. "I don't care if you're rich as Malfoy: fair's fair. Besides, if anyone gives you trouble for talking to us - not that it's likely, but you never know - you can say it was business, plain and simple."

"All right," said Maud, still surprised, but not displeased. "It's a bargain."

George leaned over and grasped her proffered hand as though to shake it: then a devilish gleam came into his eye, and he raised it to his lips instead.

"Stop that," she told him sternly, relieved that her voice did not waver. Undaunted, George waggled his eyebrows, murmured something in a mock-sultry voice, and pretended to nibble her fingers.

Maud burst out laughing, and shoved him away with her foot. "Interloper."

He rolled over, flushed and grinning. "Can't help it," he said. "It's the Weasley pride - just can't admit defeat."

Her smile faded. "George-"

"It was a joke. Don't worry about it." He spoke lightly, but the warning in his voice was real. "Anyway, we'd better get to class. Just - I meant it, about Fred and me doing a bunk if Umbridge pushes us any more. And now she's got rid of Dumbledore and appointed herself Head, she probably will. So if we don't get the chance to talk again, take care of yourself, OK?"

She wished she dared to hug him, to show him just how grateful she was for all his kindness to her. She longed to tell him that of all her schoolmates at Hogwarts, he was the only one she called friend. But in the end, all she could do was look into his eyes and say, with quiet conviction, "I will."

"Right, then," he said, tweaking her ear. "See you in class, Maud Moody."

And just like that, he was gone.

Maud waited the traditional two minutes before she, too, left the closet and closed the door behind her. For a moment she lingered, her fingertips resting against the rough, age-pitted wood: then she turned and walked away.

#

"Given the dismal record of this class when it comes to the real subtleties of potion-making," said Snape coldly, "I was not surprised to see how very few of you proved adequate to the challenge of inventing a simple medicinal potion. Winthrop, may I point out to you that _Cassia senna_ is by no means an acceptable substitute for _Cinnamonum Cassia, _unless you happen to be fond of violent purging? And the leeches must be dried, Miss Szabo - not boiled, as the victim of your tender ministrations would no doubt discover when he began to asphyxiate." With thumb and forefinger he plucked two parchments from his desk and held them up by their topmost corners, as though unwilling to sully his hands further with them. "You have both earned a zero."

The two students hurried up to collect their papers, then slunk back to their seats. "As for the rest of you," Snape continued, "who fared scarcely better..." In a flat voice he began to read off the names of Maud's classmates one by one, followed by their marks. Many of the students looked worried, some even stunned: next to the Potions NEWT itself, this was the most important assignment of the year, and a low mark did not bode well for their success on the final examinations.

Fred Weasley's Anti-Nausea Nostrum and George's Stop-Bleeding Serum, however, earned them both an E - although Snape's lip curled in obvious distaste at having to give it to them. He would have been even less pleased, thought Maud, if he had known how little effort the twins had actually put into the assignment, having perfected the recipes earlier in the year as part of their Skiving Snackboxes.

"Miss Moody." Snape pushed his chair back with a slow, deliberate movement and rose to his feet. "Your Migraine-Relieving Mixture received the highest grade - an O."

Someone - probably Muriel Groggins - made a soft derisive noise, and Maud's desk-mate Lucinda snickered. Ignoring them both, Maud rose and took a step forward, only to hear a small but distinct voice buzzing in her ear: _"And now, the Philomena Philtre Memorial Award for Service to a Potions Master Above and Beyond the Call of Duty goes to..."_

Maud stopped dead, colour burning up her cheeks. The voice was George Weasley's.

She should have known better than to take his kissing her hand at face value, especially coupled with the unintelligible murmur and that odd tweak of her ear as he said goodbye. Of course he'd had his wand up his sleeve the whole time, and now he was sitting ten feet away on the Gryffindor side of the room, subvocalising a wicked running commentary that only she could hear.

It was all she could do to keep her face composed as she walked the final few steps to the front of the classroom. And when she saw Snape holding out the parchment to her, she had to brace herself before she could take it.

"Excellent work, Miss Moody," said Snape.

"But what I really want to know is, was it good for you too?"

"Shut up," hissed Maud between her teeth, but to no avail: she could hear George, but there was no way he could hear her. Snape's black brows lifted a fraction of an inch, and Maud blushed again.

_"Ooh," _said George. _"I love a woman in red."_

Snape's hand clasped hers in a dispassionate handshake -

"Don't forget to let go, now."

Whipping her hand free, Maud ducked her head, mumbled an acknowledgement, and hurried back to her desk.

"What is wrong with you?" stage-whispered Lucinda as she sat down. "Anybody would think you were terrified of Snape."

"Or in love with him," said Muriel from the next desk, her small dark eyes alight with malice.

If Snape heard either one of them, he gave no sign of it. "This class is dismissed," he said, and stalked out of the room as though heading for some urgent appointment.

Maud took out her wand and touched it to her ear. _"Finite Incantatem,"_ she muttered, and the sound of George's chuckling faded away.

"Oh!" breathed Lucinda. "Somebody put an Exaudio Charm on you? And you fell for it?" Her eyes flicked to Muriel, who was shoving books into her schoolbag and no longer appeared to be listening. "What did she - I mean, whoever - say?"

"Guess," said Maud shortly.

"Oh," Lucinda repeated in dawning comprehension, and then she started to giggle.

Now that the worst of the embarrassment was over, Maud was tempted to laugh as well, Muriel's remark notwithstanding. It had been a typical Weasley twin prank, after all, and it hadn't really done any harm. On the other hand, if she was going to let Lucinda continue drawing the wrong conclusion about who had tricked her, she'd better keep a straight face: so without looking back at Muriel - no point overdoing it - she closed her textbook and began packing her things away.

Trust George, she thought wryly, to find a way to turn what was probably their last Potions class together into an unforgettable experience...

#

And it was, indeed, the last class they shared. During the Easter holidays which followed, she caught occasional glimpses of George, but their paths never crossed. And the first day classes were back in session, he and Fred made good on their word and left Hogwarts altogether.

The next few weeks would have been difficult, had Maud and her schoolmates not been too busy revising for NEWTs to bother about anything else. Even Muriel's spiteful vigilance had lapsed while she laboured over her textbooks, so Maud could move a little more freely about the school. Which turned out to be a good thing, because around that same time her occasional evenings with Snape turned into twice-weekly Occlumency lessons.

She had already guessed that Severus must be skilled at shielding his thoughts and emotions from magical intrusion - he could scarcely have gone back to Voldemort otherwise. Nor was his determination to teach her that same skill surprising, given that she would soon leave the protection of Hogwarts, carrying with her the knowledge that her mentor, her lover, was a spy. She was not prepared, however, for how difficult and demanding a craft Occlumency would prove to be.

"Lamentably transparent as you are," he said to her on the first night, "you have an advantage over... _some_ students I have taught... in that you are able to master your emotions, and to act on thought rather than impulse. All that remains is to strengthen your mental barriers through exercise, and that we will continue to do until you can successfully bar me from your mind. Then we will refine your technique to the point where your resistance is no longer obvious, so that even a skilled Legilimencer cannot tell if you have anything to hide."

He had offered her the use of Dumbledore's Pensieve - though what it might be doing in Snape's office was a mystery: surely he hadn't petitioned the Headmaster to lend it on _her_ account? - but she had declined. He had used it himself, drawing three separate strands of memory from his mind and depositing them in the basin, but he did not tell her why, and she knew better than to ask.

"Now. If you are ready... _Legilimens!"_

She had not been ready, that first time, and his mind pierced hers like a knife through butter. No sooner had the contact been made, however, than he withdrew: if he had seen anything of her memories, she could not tell, and he did not remark on it. She was grateful for that, though after half an hour of this pitifully one-sided battle she was exhausted and longing for the session to be over.

The second night, and the third, it was the same. Each time she left the dungeons feeling bruised in both mind and body, and collapsed into her bed as though drugged. But on the fourth she felt his mind skitter across the surface of her thoughts, and knew that she was learning the trick at last.

"Good," said Snape softly. "Very good. You are a still pond, Miss Moody -" it was always _Miss Moody_ when he was teaching her, even outside of class - "sink your betraying thoughts and emotions to the very depths, and allow only calmness to remain. When you have mastered that, you may learn to bring select feelings to the surface that will give your mind the illusion of openness. If the Dark Lord should ever attempt to read you, I suggest that you allow your fear of him to dominate, like a layer of ice upon the surface of your mental lake, and in your case he will likely be satisfied."

"Does he try to read you often?" It was a question she had wanted to ask for a long time, but only now did it seem appropriate.

"Not as often as he once did," replied Severus after a moment. "Nor as... forcefully." And that was all he would say.

By the sixth session she was able to resist him nine times out of ten, and only a sudden hammer-blow from his mind, ruthlessly delivered, succeeded in shattering her at the last. She stumbled and fell to hands and knees, the breath heaving out of her in dry sobs; and in an instant he had gripped her arms and lifted her back to her feet, only to pull her into a crushing embrace.

"You should have struck back at me," he hissed into her hair. "You were meant to strike back."

"Your thoughts are your own," she said, her eyes closed against the threatening tears. "Even if I had the power - I couldn't do that to you."

"This is no time for mercy, Maud." And by his use of her first name she knew how much she had shaken him. "If an enemy attacks your mind in the same way -"

"Then I will resist him, with all the skills you've taught me. But _you_ are not my enemy. And if you want me to learn Legilimency, you'll have to find me a different teacher."

He released her then, and turned away as though she had displeased him. "As you wish." That night he dismissed the lesson early, with barely more than a word in farewell, and she went to bed with a heavy heart.

But the next time she came to the dungeon, the Pensieve he had borrowed was gone.

#

"Whoo-HOO!"

Annie's shriek of delight echoed through the Slytherin dormitory. She spun around, arms wide, scattering parchments everywhere. "No more assignments! No more NEWTs! We are _done_, ladies!"

"I know I've got a P on my Arithmancy," moaned Lucinda, sitting down heavily on the end of her bed.

"I don't care what I've got," announced Annie with airy triumph. "I'm just glad exams are _over_."

Maud walked slowly past them, not speaking, and began to pack her things away in her trunk. Part of her knew she ought to share Annie's exultation, or at least pretend to; finishing their last year of wizarding school was indeed a major achievement, and unlike her dorm-mates, Maud felt reasonably confident that she had done well. Completing her final Occlumency lesson, earlier in the week, had also been gratifying. But still, leaving Hogwarts was not something she even wanted to think about right now, let alone celebrate.

"What about you, Muriel?" asked Annie. "Got any plans?"

The corners of Muriel Groggins's mouth turned up in a slow, nasty smile. "Plans?" she said. "Oh... you could say that."

She did not look at Maud as she spoke, but there was no need. They both knew, even if Annie and Lucinda didn't, exactly what she meant.

"I wouldn't count on it, if I were you," said Maud calmly, layering robes and cloaks in the trunk.

Muriel made a scornful sound. "You think too much of yourself, Moody. As usual."

"Er... yes, well..." Lucinda cleared her throat. "Can't we be half-decent to each other for a while? It's the last day of school."

"I have no idea what any of you are talking about," Annie declared, "and furthermore I don't care. I'm going down to get one last good look at Draco Malfoy before dinner-"

"Eurgh," said Maud, Muriel and Lucinda in unison, and then looked at each other with surprise.

"I think that would put me _off_ my dinner," said Muriel sourly.

One thing that could be said for Muriel, Maud had to admit, was that there was nothing wrong with her taste in men. Not that either Fred or George Weasley had ever bothered to speak to Muriel, even when they were still in school, but still...

"He's only fifteen," said Lucinda. "That's - _nasty_."

Suppressing a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh, Maud bent swiftly over her trunk, letting her hair swing down to hide her face.

"Oh, I don't want to date him," said Annie. "I just like to _look_ at him. Especially now his Dad's in Azkaban and he's gone all moody and tragic. It's dead sexy, if you ask me."

Muriel snorted. "I don't, thanks. But if you've got a thing for weasels, don't let us stop you."

"Better than having a thing for _Weasleys_," retorted Annie with unusual spirit, and skipped out.

There was a moment of awful silence in which Muriel turned very red, and Maud wondered if they would have to jump up and restrain her. But then she took a deep breath, and her face resumed its normal colour again. "I'll get her for that," she said, in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone, and turned back to her packing.

Lucinda went pale. "I... er... have to return a book to the library," she said, and hurried out.

"Coward," muttered Muriel, elbow-deep in her trunk.

But Maud was no longer paying attention; she was looking at something in her hand. It had fallen out of the folds of her dress robe, the sage-green velvet she had not worn since the Christmas feast: a small, grey-speckled owl's feather.

For the last few months, none of Maud's roommates seemed to have noticed the statuette of a little owl she kept on the bookshelf beside her bed - or if they had, they had not guessed its significance. Which was just as well, because if Muriel had known the truth, she would no doubt have taken malicious delight in stealing Athena, or even smashing her.

Gently Maud stroked the feather against her cheek. Then with sudden decisiveness she picked Athena off the shelf and slipped the little owl into her pocket. She had always meant to bury Athena at the end of the school year, in a final gesture of respect and farewell. Now, however, she had a better idea.

Which reminded her: she had an appointment to keep before dinner, and she'd better get moving if she didn't want to be late.

"Now where are _you_ going?" demanded Muriel as she walked past.

It was always a pleasure, thought Maud, to be able to tell the literal truth, and yet know there was no danger of being believed. "To kiss Professor Snape goodbye, of course," she said blithely, and shut the door behind her.

#

She had made it only a few steps down the corridor, however, when an odd tickling sensation in her mind arrested her. Perhaps... perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go and see Severus right away? The likelihood of Muriel following her was small, but still, it might be prudent to take an indirect route. The thought had barely formed itself in her mind when her feet began to carry her in the opposite direction, up the flight of stairs toward the Great Hall and the upper levels of the school.

For a few minutes she wandered aimlessly, not really knowing or caring where she might end up: but when she turned a corner and found herself in front of Dumbledore's office, she realised it was where she had been heading all along. How very odd, she thought. She had been wondering whether she should come and say a proper goodbye to him, but had talked herself out of it, knowing he must be busy. And now she was here after all.

She was just opening her mouth to see if she could guess the current password when the gargoyle jumped out of the way and the wall slid aside, revealing the familiar spiral stair. Obviously, the Headmaster was expecting her; in fact, he had probably summoned her here to begin with. But why?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Stepping through, she rode the staircase to the top and found the Headmaster's door wide open, with Dumbledore's starry-robed figure silhouetted against the light.

"Good evening, Miss Moody," he said, stepping back and motioning to her to come in. "I hope you will forgive the liberty I took to encourage you to come here, but I thought it best to be discreet."

"It's... fine," said Maud, a little taken aback. His face seemed graver than usual, the lines around his eyes and mouth carved deep, as though he were carrying a burden whose heaviness she could not even begin to guess.

"Sir," she said softly, "is everything all right?"

Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. "My dear girl," he said. "If Hogwarts is at peace tonight, it is only because we stand in the eye of the storm. And though much that was lost has been restored, much more remains in jeopardy. No, everything is not all right. But with courageous young people like yourself ready to join the fight against Voldemort, I have hope that it will be." He smiled gently at her. "Which brings me to the reason I brought you here. Have you decided what you will do when you leave Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure," Maud admitted. "I had thought I might take some medical training, and perhaps become a Healer."

"A worthy ambition, and one I would encourage you to pursue. We will need all of our Healers, I fear, before long. However..." He turned, picked up a roll of parchment from the desk behind him. "As Headmaster of this school I have certain opportunities, or, should I say, privileges. One of them is to identify students who may be useful to a certain branch of the Ministry of Magic, and to act, in a small capacity, on that Department's behalf." He handed her the scroll. "I believe, Maud, that not only your skills but also your family background make you a candidate of particular interest."

In puzzled silence Maud took the letter, broke the seal (blue wax, embossed with a stylised question mark) and opened it. It read:

_Dear Hogwarts Graduate_

(the last two words shimmered as she read them, vanished, and reappeared as "Miss Moody"),

_It is my very great pleasure to invite you to become a part of one of the Ministry of Magic's most vital, though least publicised, departments. Your skills in observation and research, as well as your ability to interpret and report accurately what you have learned, make you a prime candidate for our work. We offer a wide range of positions to suit your interests, and I am confident that you would find working with us a rewarding challenge._

_If you decide that you would like to know more about this opportunity, tap this parchment three times with your wand at your earliest convenience, and one of our representatives will contact you. If, however, you choose not to respond within the next five days, this letter will self-destruct and your memory of receiving it will be erased._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Euphemia Glossop_  
_Department of Secrets_  
_Ministry of Magic_

"Department of Secrets?" said Maud. "But they're not - I mean, I thought it was just a rumour that they even existed."

"They are certainly more than a rumour. Your father worked for them," said Dumbledore quietly.

Maud looked up, startled. "My father? But he was just an academic... he did research on magical artefacts..."

"Quite so. And many of them were significant and potentially dangerous magical artefacts, the secrets of whose use had been lost over the centuries. I am sure you can appreciate the need for discretion under such circumstances - particularly in light of Voldemort and his insatiable hunger for power." He sighed. "When your father was taken by the Death Eaters, his loss was keenly felt. He was a man of great intellect and, in the end, great courage."

"I never knew," she whispered. "My uncle never told me. Why?"

"He was not at liberty to tell you," said Dumbledore. "The Department of Secrets keeps not only its membership but even its very existence as privileged information. If Alastor had any idea of your father's involvement with the Department, he would have been sworn not to speak of it."

"But you're telling me now."

"Yes. Not only because I believe you have a right to know, but because it may help you to choose what course to take."

She frowned. "But sir... do you really think the Ministry can be trusted? Especially after what happened this year?"

Dumbledore looked grim, as though she had reminded him of something he preferred to forget. "For all his power and influence, Cornelius Fudge is not the Ministry. The Department of Secrets has always exercised a certain amount of independence, and even during the regrettable events of this past year they were not quick to follow the Minister's lead, nor to share all of his opinions. If you chose to work with them, I believe you would find your work meaningful, even effective, in the fight against Voldemort - which is more, alas, than can be said for much of what goes on at the Ministry these days."

Maud looked back down at the letter, not knowing what to say.

"Take your time," Dumbledore told her gently. "Think about it, and do what you believe to be right. That is all I ask."

Maud rolled up the parchment again and slipped it into her sleeve. "I will," she said. "Thank you."

"Not at all," said Dumbledore. "As I said before, I consider it a privilege." He took her hand, bending over it courteously. "Farewell, Miss Moody. No doubt we shall see each other at the Leaving Feast, but this will be the last time we speak. Still, I hope we may meet again - under happier conditions, perhaps."

"I hope so too," said Maud. She hesitated, wondering if she dared to do what was really in her heart; then, casting caution aside, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

At first Dumbledore looked surprised; then he smiled, a warm and genuine smile that lifted the tension from his face and made him look years younger. "My dear girl," he said. "You are a treasure. Tell Severus, when you see him, that the moment he ceases to appreciate you I will have him sacked."

Maud smiled back. "I will," she said. "Goodbye, Headmaster. I'll miss you."

"And I you," said Dumbledore quietly. "Goodbye."

#

By all accounts last year's Leaving Feast had been grim, but this year's, thought Maud, could hardly be much better. Outside Hogwarts a storm was gathering, not only figuratively but literally: as they ate their dinner, lightning arced across the ceiling of the Great Hall.

The Slytherins chatted amongst themselves, putting on a show of unconcern, but most of the other students were silent and visibly ill at ease. For the last few months they had buried themselves in schoolwork and the other preoccupations of adolescence, ignoring the growing darkness outside the castle's walls. But tomorrow they would leave Hogwarts - some, like Maud herself, for good. And given the knowledge that Voldemort had indeed returned, that was a prospect few of them seemed to relish.

She glanced up at the staff table, where the teachers sat conversing in low voices. Snape appeared to be listening to something McGonagall had to say, but his gaze was abstracted and his long fingers methodically deconstructed a dinner roll as she spoke. Maud made a brief, unsuccessful attempt to catch his eye, then gave up and helped herself to another Yorkshire pudding. She would find out what was troubling him soon enough.

In another half-hour the feast had ended, much to Maud's relief, and the students filtered back to their dorms and their packing. Maud spent a token few minutes rearranging her trunk, then wandered back into the Common Room and sat down in front of the fireplace, her feet propped idly on the ottoman. At last, satisfied that Muriel was not following her and that none of the other Slytherins appeared to care what she was doing, she rose and slipped out the door.

She had been longing for this meeting and dreading it at the same time, but she could put it off no longer. Her feet knew the way to the dungeons: she let them carry her, and within minutes she was at her destination.

"Professor?" she said cautiously.

There was no reply. She glanced back down the darkened corridor, making sure that she had not been followed; then she pushed open the door to Snape's office and walked in.

As she had expected, he was alone, but he appeared to be far from idle. He sat at his desk with quill in hand, dark head bent over his writing, and did not even look up as she came in. Maud knew better than to interrupt him at work, so she simply sat down in the nearest chair, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

A few minutes passed in silence, while Maud looked around the room - a cheerless, even forbidding place at first glance, full of oddly shaped bottles and nasty-looking creatures pickled in jars - and tried not to think about how much she would miss it. She had spent many hours here over the past ten months since she came to Hogwarts: like Dumbledore's office and George's travelling closet, it had become for her a place of enormous personal significance. It was hard, cruelly hard, to realise that she was about to leave it behind.

Snape laid his quill down, folded the parchment into precise thirds, and sealed it with a tap of his wand. Then he looked up, and his level gaze met hers. "So," he said.

"So," said Maud. Her throat was dry. "I talked to the Headmaster. Before the Feast."

His eyes narrowed a little, became wary. "Oh?"

"We discussed my plans for the future, and he suggested... a possibility I had not been aware of." She wasn't sure she ought to mention the Department of Secrets explicitly, even though he must know of their existence - her father had worked for them, after all, and it was on account of Voldemort's interest in that work that she and Severus had first met.

"Ah. Still acting in his capacity as unofficial recruiter, I see," said Snape, relaxing visibly. "Do you intend to pursue this... possibility?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Maud, relieved that he understood. "But I've got five days to consider it: that should be enough."

"For you, yes." He laced his long fingers together and stretched them, palms outward, as though too much writing had cramped them. "Of course, if you find the Department's excess of subtlety tedious, you could always go into business with the Weasley twins."

The delivery was deadpan, but it was unquestionably meant as a joke, and under other circumstances Maud would have laughed. This particular witticism, however, hit a little too close to the mark, and the most she could muster was a wan smile - which Severus, of course, noticed at once. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to look down at her, his gaze intent; and though she knew he would not use Legilimency on her without permission, she coloured and averted her eyes.

"Maud," he said, and it was both question and warning.

I owe him this. Whatever it may cost me.

She took a deep breath. "I have a confession to make."

"Yes?"

"I was friends with George Weasley for the last few months of school, right up until he left Hogwarts. But," she added in a rush as Snape's lips tightened, "we kept it absolutely secret, I swear. We did all our talking in a place that nobody but the twins knew existed - and even Fred didn't know George and I were meeting there. I didn't mean it to happen, I certainly didn't want to be sneaking about with George behind your back, but I was in an awkward situation, and, well-" She spread her hands helplessly. "I'm sorry."

For a long moment Snape was silent, arms folded and head bent. Then he said in an expressionless voice, "How much does he know?"

"Not as much as he thinks he does," said Maud, "but he does know about you and me. I didn't tell him anything, of course: he figured it out on his own."

"And he didn't make capital of that knowledge?" His brows lifted. "Most unusual. If I didn't know better, Maud, I'd say you must have either threatened him, bribed him... or seduced him."

He paused just long enough for Maud's mouth to form an O of astonished outrage; then he quirked a half-smile at her and continued, "But since I do know better, I can only conclude that he must value your friendship - or at least your expertise with Potions - quite highly."

Maud was startled, then nonplussed. Earlier in their association, he had made it plain that she could be seen with either him or the Weasley twins, but not both; and she had taken him at his word. But had she misjudged him? Had his warning been more literal and less harsh than she realised?

"Excuse me," she said in a cautious tone, "but I seem to have missed the part where you fly into a jealous rage and forbid me to ever see him again."

His look of amusement deepened. "Why should I? If you'd wanted George Weasley I suspect you could have had him. And you are far too artless to cultivate two lovers at the same time, or to pretend to stronger feelings toward me than you do in fact possess: so I am left with the conclusion that you chose me over Mr Weasley a long time ago, and have yet to regret it." He tilted her chin up with his fingers. "So tell me... do I have reason to be jealous?"

A casual observer might have taken his words for arrogance; but Maud knew better, and it shook her to the core. "You..." she whispered. "You trust me that much?"

He took her hands, drawing her up to stand before him. "You are the most fundamentally honest person I have ever known," he said. "Never think that I trust too easily, Maud, any more than your uncle does: it is simply that you have proven yourself to both of us beyond all reasonable doubt." His black eyes held hers, unwavering, unblinking. "I need no Legilimency with you. If you say your friendship with George Weasley was a secret unknown to anyone else at Hogwarts, I believe you. If you say that it is only a friendship, I believe you. And when you tell me that you love me, absurd as it seems..." He drew the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "I believe that, too."

"I love you," she said, her voice shaking a little. "I love you so much."

He pulled her against him then, his mouth finding hers with the ease of five months' familiarity, and for a long breathless moment there were no words. She clung to him, trying desperately to impress the shape of him onto her lips and her arms and her hands, yet knowing all the while that it was futile. No matter how tightly she might hold him now, when she left this room she could take nothing away with her but memories.

When he loosed her at last, it was with obvious reluctance. She laid her head against his shoulder, listening to the quick, steady beat of his heart; he wrapped his arms around her, and for a few moments they did not move or speak. Then at last he said, very quietly, "You should go, Maud."

She understood his reasons, even agreed with them: but tonight was her last night at Hogwarts, and who knew when they might see each other again? Maud took his hand, pressing it against her cheek. "I want to stay with you," she murmured into his palm. "I don't want to leave."

Severus closed his eyes, the lines of his face deepening. His fingers tightened against her skin a moment; then he drew back his hand and let it drop. "One day, perhaps," he said. "But not now."

She knew when she was defeated; that silk-over-steel voice would brook no argument. Slowly she drew Athena from her sleeve, held the little owl out to him. "Keep her for me," she said. "To remember me by."

For a moment he hesitated: then his fingers closed around the gift, and he set Athena on the desk by his side. "I will," he said, "because you ask it. But where you are concerned, Maud... I have no need of reminders."

There was a rawness in his voice she had never heard before. Maud's vision blurred; she took his face between her hands and kissed him, hard. Then she turned, fumbled the door open, and walked blindly out into the darkness.

She was halfway to the Slytherin dormitory, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around her stomach to hold in the pain, before she realised she had never asked Severus what was troubling him at dinner. For a moment she hesitated, part of her yearning to take the excuse to go back; then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and kept walking.


	2. Twin Compasses

Maud rested her elbows on the windowsill, gazing out into the cobbled courtyard beyond. For the first two days after her return from Hogwarts, she had stayed in a room above the Leaky Cauldron; but now she had found a place of her own, and she was pleased with it.

Still, it was something of a shock to wake each morning and find herself alone: she'd got used to Muriel's snoring, Lucinda's sighs, and Annie's cheerful early-morning prattle. Part of her wondered if she ought to seek out a flat-mate, preferably one with a few more pieces of furniture to her credit, to help fill up the silence and the space. But that could wait until some other things were settled - and considering what she was about to do, it probably should.

Sliding the window shut, she walked over and picked up the now-familiar scroll from the tea-table. It unrolled easily in her hand. _Dear Miss Moody..._

Maud held her breath, drew her wand, and tapped the parchment three times.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, without warning, the letter began to curl, shrivel, and blacken at the edges. Stepping closer to the fireplace, she let it drop to the hearthstones and watched as it burst into flames and consumed itself, leaving nothing but a fine layer of sparkling ash.

And when she looked up, she was no longer alone.

Maud wasn't quite sure who or what she'd been expecting, but it definitely hadn't been this. It would have been difficult to find a less secretive-looking individual than the one who stood before her: a plump, cheerful young woman only a few years older than herself, with bright hazel eyes and a smooth brown cap of hair. Her butter-and-saffron robes were just barely on the tasteful side of garish, but they suited her, as did the warm, open smile she gave Maud as she came forward and stuck out her hand.

"Hullo," she said. "I'm Imogen Crump."

Maud shook her hand, still a little bemused by the unexpectedness of the other girl's arrival. She'd expected to be warned by the familiar popping sound of Apparation, but for all the vivacity of her manner, Imogen had materialised in absolute silence.

"I'm Maud Moody," she said.

"So I hear. No relation to Mad-Eye, I suppose?"

"He's my uncle."

"Really?" Imogen's eyes were wide. "Phemie didn't tell me that. Though she must have known, the old termagant." She grinned. "No wonder she was so keen to get you on-side."

Maud was finding herself somewhat at a loss. It had been a long time since she had dealt - openly, at least - with someone so naturally good-natured and friendly. Part of her wanted to glance about the flat to make sure there weren't any Slytherins there to notice. It was that impulse which made her ask, somewhat irrelevantly:

"What House were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, Hufflepuff, of course," said Imogen. "I look like one, don't I? And you? Wait, let me guess - Ravenclaw."

"Slytherin."

"Seriously?" Imogen blinked. "Well, that's a novelty. Funny, though, I don't remember your name coming up in the Sorting. I'm sure we would have overlapped for at least your first year."

"I was only at Hogwarts for my last year. Before that, I was at Durmstrang."

"Really?" Imogen looked impressed. "You _have_ had an interesting career. Spying for your uncle, I suppose?"

Maud looked at her in surprise. "Now why would you think that?"

"Well, he's always had a tendency to dabble in Department business - as though being an Auror wasn't enough - and if you'd gone to Durmstrang to learn the Dark Arts, Dumbledore would hardly have recommended you to us, now, would he?"

Imogen might look guileless, thought Maud, but she was sharp. And no doubt she'd cast some kind of privacy spell before she Apparated in, or she wouldn't be talking so frankly. Nevertheless, Maud kept her face expressionless, merely raising her eyebrows a fraction, as if to say, _Think what you like._

"Ooh, a tricky one," said Imogen appreciatively. "Well, then, there isn't much I have to tell you about secrecy. The Department of Secrets is, as you've already seen, exceedingly stingy with its information. Even members of different sub-departments often don't know each other's names or particular lines of work. We have our spies, of course; that's what everybody suspects we're all about. But in fact we do a lot more than that. Investigation, research, strategy... we have people who grub about in archaeological digs and old libraries, and others who sit in little offices all day and just _think_."

"And what are you?" asked Maud. "If it's all right to ask."

"I'm one of the Departmental liaisons, obviously, but I also work in Muggle surveillance. Somebody has to keep an eye on what's going on with the rest of the world, and actually understand it for a change." Imogen sighed. "We have some enthusiastic Muggle-watchers in other Ministry departments, but they're such _amateurs_."

Muggle Studies not being a popular course at Durmstrang, nor a politic choice of subject for a Slytherin, Maud had had little opportunity to study the non-wizarding population. Nevertheless, she was intrigued. "So what do you do? I mean, how do you study them?"

"The truth?" Imogen chuckled. "Mostly I just sit about in cafés, wearing Muggle clothes and eavesdropping on their conversations. It really isn't a very challenging assignment - at least not for anything but my waistline." Then her face took on an expression of mock severity and she added, "But enough about me. You have a decided talent for misdirection, don't you? If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd already been introduced to Phemie's First Rule: _People are far more interested in talking about themselves than they are in finding out about you_. Words to live by, when you're a witch asking Muggles a lot of gormless questions about their jobs, their families, and what they think of the government."

She took a few steps back and plumped down into Maud's armchair, propping her feet up on the ottoman with every appearance of ease. "You wouldn't mind putting the kettle on, would you?" she said. "I'd murder for a cup of tea."

#

By the end of an hour with Imogen, Maud's mind was reeling. It wasn't that she'd been given a great deal of information about the Department of Secrets - in fact, when it came to anything other than the activities of her own sub-department, Imogen didn't appear to know that much. No, it was more that the other girl's method of delivering information was so scattershot, so entangled with cheerful anecdotes and amusing bits of trivia, that Maud found it hard to sift out what was relevant.

Nevertheless, it had at least become clear that Euphemia Glossop's letter had not exaggerated: there were any number of possible avenues within the Department that Maud might choose to pursue. Espionage and counter-intelligence she had already ruled out, but there were plenty of investigative and analytical openings, including the kind of work Maud's own father had done. Even more intriguing was the offhand remark that the Department did some work involving potions, but unfortunately the extent of Imogen's knowledge appeared to end there.

"So," said Imogen brightly, "what do you think? Do I whisk you away to Phemie, or do I just thank you for the tea, cast Obliviate, and slope off?"

Internally, Maud winced. The casual use of Memory Charms in the wizarding world, even among genuinely kind and well-meaning people, had never failed to disturb her. "I'm interested," she said. "Yes."

"Smashing." Imogen put down her teacup and jumped to her feet. "Well, then, take my arm and off we'll go." She grinned up at Maud almost shyly. "You won't be sorry, Maud Moody," she said. "This is going to be _fun_."

#

"Moody. Hmm. Yes."

Euphemia Glossop was a tall, gaunt witch with tight iron-grey curls and the brisk manner of a woman accustomed to authority. She regarded Maud through the glittering pince-nez perched on the end of her nose and said crisply, "Well, your academic credentials are certainly in order. How did you enjoy working with Professor Snape?"

The swift pointedness of the question took Maud by surprise, and she flushed. "I- it was-"

"Ah," said Glossop, with a penetrating look. "A true Moody, I see."

Swallowing back her dismay - did this woman know _everything _about her? - Maud forced herself to smile. "Is that so unfortunate?"

"Only if you were hoping to go into espionage. Never mind. We can use you anyway." Glossop rose from her desk and extended a long bony hand. "Welcome to the Department of Secrets."

Maud couldn't help thinking, as she shook the older woman's hand, that she had seldom been anywhere that looked less like a Department. The office consisted of two narrow, windowless rooms, austerely furnished and silent as a crypt. There did not appear to be a door: Imogen had Apparated in with her and then promptly Disapparated again. Maud had no idea even what city the place was in. Which was, no doubt, the whole point.

"We do, of course, have a formal base of operations in London," Glossop said, sitting down again. "But that's only the tip of the wand, so to speak. The bulk of our activities take place in small, isolated cells like this one, located throughout Great Britain."

She gave an economical flick of her wand, and a translucent map of the British Isles appeared in the air between them, with sparkling dots scattered across it.

"I see that you have your Apparation license," she continued, "so there should be no need for delay. Starting tomorrow, Imogen will teach you how to Apparate to the most generally known locations-" London, Belfast, and Edinburgh lit up like starbursts- "while I myself will take you to others. Later, you will learn a few Apparation points unique to your sub-department." She dismissed the map with another gesture. "No one of us knows all of the Department's secrets. Which is just as it should be."

Maud nodded. It might make for a bit more difficulty in communication, but strategically it made sense: Voldemort - or anyone else - could never hope to crush the Department of Secrets at one blow. No doubt Euphemia Glossop was only one of several people in authority, for the same reason.

"So," said Glossop, leaning back in her chair and putting her fingertips together, "I expect Miss Crump has given you some idea of the possibilities open to you as a member of our Department. Have you any preference as to what you would like to do here?"

"I've given it some thought," admitted Maud. "But I'm also curious..."

"Yes?" asked Glossop.

"Well, you've seen my academic records, and you know my history. Where would _you_ assign me?"

Glossop's brows lifted. "An interesting question." She narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the desk as she contemplated her answer. "My personal inclination," she said at last, "would be to put you in Potions Research and Development."

Inwardly, Maud exulted, but she kept her expression mild. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Your work would involve the formulation of antidotes to poisons and other malicious brews used by Dark wizards. You would also create potions for offensive and defensive use by Aurors and other Ministry enforcers. A little analysis, a little medicine, a little creativity - and, once you gain sufficient experience, some work in the field. Not quite espionage, but it could be somewhat dangerous, nonetheless. I trust this does not alarm you?"

Maud shook her head.

"No, I didn't think so." Glossop smiled grimly. "No one raised by Alastor Moody could afford to be timid." Her fingers tapped the desk again. "Which reminds me. By all reports, you have been estranged from your uncle for the past five months. Do you have any intention of altering that arrangement?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Not unless the rift between you is genuine, which I doubt. If it merely suits Alastor to have his niece appear sympathetic to the Enemy's cause, I have no objection. Indeed, it will probably make your work - and some other things, I imagine - easier if you do. Nevertheless-" she held up a finger sternly- "you know as well as I do that your ruse would not survive close inspection by a truly intelligent Death Eater, much less by the Enemy himself. So I expect you to keep a safe distance, and not follow your uncle's unfortunate habit of dabbling in espionage. Am I understood?"

"Yes," said Maud, a little ruefully.

For just an instant, Glossop's angular features softened. "You are not... quite... what I expected, Miss Moody. But you'll do. Oh, yes, you'll do."

Maud opened her mouth to ask Glossop what she meant, but too late; the other woman drew a deep breath, and was all business again. "Now. Imogen will attend you tomorrow morning at eight o'clock precisely, and your training will begin. Have you any more questions at this time?"

As a matter of fact, Maud did; but she suspected they were not questions Glossop would be prepared to answer at this point. "No," she said. "Thank you."

"Very well. You are dismissed," said Glossop. "Good day."

Maud inclined her head respectfully, took two steps back, and Disapparated.

Reality blurred, then coalesced again in the form of her flat. She looked around, and found Imogen once more comfortably ensconced in the armchair, pouring a fresh cup of tea.

"So you got past Phemie unscathed," said the other witch, handing her the cup. "I thought you would. Did she tell you we're starting tomorrow?"

Maud took the teacup gratefully and cradled it in her hands, breathing in the fragrant steam. "Yes," she said.

"Good." Imogen beamed at her. "You know, I think we're going to be friends, Maud Moody. Don't ask me why, but I just do."

#

She'd been right, too. As Maud discovered over the next few weeks of training, Imogen usually was. She might look unassuming and behave innocently - and to some extent both were genuine - but beneath that affable surface was a mind and a will nearly as formidable as Euphemia Glossop's.

"But she's got no ambition at all," said Maud to George, stirring her drink idly with the straw and watching the ice go round. "She's perfectly happy doing what she does, and I don't think she'd mind if she never did anything else."

They were sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley, having met (by accident, it would seem to any casual onlooker) in the Apothecary's half an hour earlier. It was the first time Maud had seen George since he'd left Hogwarts, and she couldn't help thinking how much she'd missed him.

"So what _does_ this new friend of yours do, then?" he asked.

"Research," said Maud. "She studies Muggles and writes about them."

George's eyebrows shot up. "She must be as big a nutter as my dad, then. Does she collect plugs, too?"

Maud gave a wry smile. Arthur Weasley's fascination with the Muggle world was well known at the Ministry, but he was definitely one of the "amateurs" who drove Imogen to despair. His view of Muggle life was romanticised, and most of his information was either inaccurate or out of date.

Imogen, on the other hand, knew precisely what she was doing. She subscribed to Muggle catalogues, newspapers and magazines by the score; used their slang and wore their fashions with casual ease; and frequently disappeared into their society for days at a time, pursuing some obscure bit of information or acquiring a new non-magical skill. If she had ever been dazzled by the novelty of the Muggle world, that naïveté had long ago worn off.

"Not that I know of," said Maud. "So what have you been up to?"

"Working like mad, mostly," said George. "Mind you, after we left Hogwarts we didn't exactly rush home - Fred and I reckoned we deserved a bit of a holiday before we really got down to business." He paused, added with a grin, "We were also trying to figure out how to break the news to Mum without getting buried up to our necks in the garden and left for the gnomes."

"How did she take it?"

"Well, she wasn't exactly keen. The words 'die of shame' were lobbed around a few times. But in the end, we talked her around."

"Why am I not surprised?" said Maud wryly.

"Well, it didn't hurt being able to show her the shop we'd already bought and the two hundred Galleons' worth of advance orders, either." George licked the back of his spoon and contemplated the empty dish of Boysenberry Ripple Delight with satisfaction. "Now _that_ is what I call a business lunch."

Maud smiled.

"So what about you?" George went on. "Your letter said you'd found a flat - in Oxford, wasn't it? - and made a new friend, but you didn't say anything about a job."

"I have one now," Maud told him. "I'm working in a lab at St. Mungo's, doing medicinal potions research."

This was, in fact, the truth, although few of Maud's co-workers at the hospital could have guessed the full extent of her activities. The lab in question had an extra room, unknown to all but Maud and the two other Department members with whom she worked; it was there that they carried out their more volatile experiments, and made top-secret potions at the Ministry's behest.

"Oh," said George. "Well. Good on you, then."

"You sound disappointed."

He looked sheepish. "I suppose I am. I mean, after being raised by the Ministry's most famous ex-Auror, and spending half your life as an amateur spy, I guess I expected you to do something a little more... exciting."

Maud gave a short laugh. "There'll be excitement enough for all of us, before long. Too much of it, I expect."

"Yeah, well, I try not to think about that. Most sane people do." George glanced around, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Heard from your boyfriend lately?"

Maud nearly choked on her soda. The thought of Severus Snape as anyone's "boyfriend" had never occurred to her. "Er... no."

"What?" George was outraged. "Not even a letter?"

"We both knew it might be difficult to keep in touch," Maud explained calmly, although a familiar dull ache was making its way into her heart as she spoke. "He's in a precarious position, and so am I. We can't afford to risk being discovered, not yet."

Again, the truth, though only part of it. In all honesty, Maud was beginning to get worried. She had known Severus would be busy this summer, both with Dumbledore and with Voldemort; but surely he would have found _some_ way of contacting her?

Still, she had no fear that Severus had forgotten her, any more than she had forgotten him. Indeed, if anything she yearned for his presence, his touch, more than ever. It was a good thing he had not taken her up on her impulsive offer to stay with him, that last night at Hogwarts; if he had, how much harder would it be for both of them now?

"I dunno," George said, with a sceptical look. "Much as it galls me to admit it, Snape's a clever b- er, bloke. He ought to be able to think of something."

"He will," said Maud firmly. "I'm sure of it."

#

"Watch that beaker by your left elbow, will you, love? It's rumpy juice, and you know what that stuff is like..."

Maud looked down at the workbench in surprise, and saw that he was right: the slender vial on the stand was labelled _Erumpent Exploding Fluid, Class B_. "What on earth are you working on?" she asked.

Tony Gamble tapped the side of his nose with a dragonhide-gloved finger and gave her a knowing wink. Stocky and mercurial, with thinning hair and bright blue eyes set deep in a sun-weathered face, he was both Maud's supervisor at St. Mungo's and her team leader for the Department of Secrets, although he seldom bothered to draw attention to either.

"Special commission from the Department of Aurors," he said. "All very hush-hush." With deft movements he added several more ingredients to the cauldron in front of him, then clapped the lid over it and held it down as the mixture frothed and belched. "Nasty stuff," he added, with a distinct note of satisfaction.

"I can tell," said Maud.

A ring of blue flame licked the rim of the cauldron, then subsided. Tony, looking surprised, took the lid off, peered down at the contents, and gave vent to a bitter oath. "I _knew_ those slugs were past their freshness date," he fumed. "Another batch ruined. Where's that lazy trollop Peg? I'll have her wand for this!"

He slammed the lid down and stomped out the door before Maud could even speak - off to yet another of his legendary battles with the hospital's supply mistress. Which left Maud in a quandary, because she'd meant to ask him if she might leave a few minutes early tonight. Should she wait until he came back?

No, she decided after a moment, she might as well just go ahead. She'd put in more than enough time on both sides of the lab this week, and besides, it was Friday. "Sarah," she said, turning to the woman quietly stirring her cauldron in the corner, "would you mind telling Tony I'm off for the day? I've got an appointment."

Sarah Proctor raised her head slowly and blinked, as though surprised that Maud was addressing her. She was a thin, middle-aged woman, with faded blonde curls and eyes that seemed permanently unfocused. "What? Oh, yes, of course."

"Thank you," said Maud, and Disapparated.

#

"You're going to love this place," promised Imogen, skipping ahead of Maud as they headed down Charing Cross Road. "They make the most gorgeous lamb curry..."

She looked perfectly natural in those Muggle clothes, thought Maud with a flash of envy. Of course, Imogen was a casual sort of person, and the fluid lines of the brightly printed cotton blouse and skirt she'd picked out for the evening suited her.

Maud, on the other hand, was feeling self-conscious. The sleeveless shift-dress of royal blue linen was undeniably flattering, and she supposed it wasn't really immodest - especially not compared to some of the outfits she'd seen on Muggle women. Still, she was glad for the jacket that came with it, and she couldn't help wishing both parts of the outfit were a good deal longer. It was hard to get used to the feeling of the evening breeze on her legs, and her shoes were so flimsy - even in one-inch heels she felt ready to fall over and break her ankle at any moment.

Nervously she put a hand to the hair knotted at the nape of her neck. It felt as though it was going to come apart, but Imogen had put a Hold-Fast Charm on it, and insisted it would be fine. Come what may, she'd been determined to make Maud fashionable: making her comfortable, it seemed, came a distant second.

A brief ride on the Tube, followed by a much longer jaunt on a rattling double-decker, brought them to the restaurant Imogen had been crowing about. It was a glass-fronted bistro, brightly lit and oozing urban trendiness in the form of brushed metal furniture and lots of exposed piping. The music playing in the background as they entered - jazz music, Imogen called it - sounded to Maud like the quacking of an extremely depressed duck, but fortunately it wasn't too loud.

The patrons all seemed to be young professional Muggles of a vaguely artistic sort, who cast brief, supercilious glances at Imogen and Maud before returning to their murmured conversations. As they followed the waiter to their table, Maud bent down and whispered to Imogen, "Didn't you say something about _fun_?"

"You wait and see," said Imogen mysteriously.

Maud was sceptical, but she held her peace. The restaurant was warm, so she took off her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair before sitting down. The meal was ordered, their drinks were filled, they made idle - but carefully censored - conversation about what they'd been up to over the past few days, and the duck continued its doleful complaints over the loudspeakers until at last the food arrived.

"You're right," admitted Maud between forkfuls of curry, "this _is_ good."

Imogen seemed preoccupied, however. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, craning her neck as though looking for someone.

"What is it?" Maud asked, frowning.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw... never mind." She gave a brief, apologetic smile and returned her attention to her meal. "So anyway, I was sitting outside a café over on the Edgware Road, and the sweetest little Japanese man with a camera came up to me and said-"

"No need," came a low, silk-and-velvet voice from the doorway. "I'm expected."

Maud's heart stopped. Slowly, she turned around, knowing all the while that she was being ridiculous; they were in the middle of Muggle London, after all, and there was no chance it could possibly be...

A man, tall and lean, dressed in a charcoal-grey jacket and slacks, a deep crimson turtleneck turning his sallow skin to gold. Dark hair worn loose to his shoulders, but with the dull gloss of absolute cleanness and not a strand out of place. He looked cultured, supercilious, and very much as though he belonged here - certainly a good deal more than Maud or even Imogen did.

"What are you..." Imogen began, and then, weakly, "Oh."

His gaze swept the restaurant, then locked with Maud's. He gave a quirk of a smile, dismissed the waiter with a negligent wave, and made his way across the room toward them.

"It _can't_ be," sputtered Imogen. "I mean... but no, he doesn't look like _that _\- and _he_ couldn't be the one - not _him_ \- surely -?"

He stopped at their table, looked down at them, brows arched in mild inquiry. "May I join you?" he asked.

Imogen and Maud stared at him.

"Ah. I was forgetting - we've not been introduced." He turned his attention to Imogen. "Stephen Soames."

"And I'm Celestina Warbeck," said Imogen in an undertone, but she put on a bright smile and shook his hand with every appearance of pleasure. "Oh yes," she said. "How silly of me, I should have known at once. Won't you sit down?"

He smiled at her, the briefest flash of white teeth, and pulled up a chair.

"Certainly," said Severus Snape.


	3. Profanation of our Joys

It was hard for Maud to think about eating, or indeed anything else, with Severus sitting only a foot away from her. Her mind was full of questions she didn't dare ask, not here, not now; yet she couldn't think of anything else to say to him, either. So she simply sat there, her face a little flushed and her eyes fixed on her plate.

Imogen took one look at Maud and launched gamely into a long, rambling, and apocryphal story about a cinematographers' party, while Snape listened with arms folded and a superior half-smile on his face. For a minute or so the three Muggle women at the next table regarded this tableau with interest; but then the waiter returned with their change, and they reluctantly filed out.

"And the caviar was horrid," said Imogen, "it tasted like little bits of rubber - right, that's got rid of them." With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, she whipped her wand out of her purse, pointed it at the just-vacated table, and said _"Averso!"_ Then she turned to Snape and said with evident disgust, "Stephen Soames indeed. The next time I see Phemie I'm going to tell her exactly what I think of her warped sense of humour."

"She didn't tell you who to expect," said Severus. He sounded amused.

"No, she most certainly didn't. Oh, she gave me your Muggle alias, all right - and I don't blame you for using it, as your own name isn't exactly inconspicuous - but I hadn't the slightest idea that _you_ were the 'special friend from Hogwarts' that Maud was going to be so happy to see." She gave Maud a reproachful look. "You might have told me."

"No," said Snape levelly, "she mightn't. If Euphemia didn't warn you already, I'm warning you now: no one else is to know about this. _No one._"

"Oh, surely it can't be that bad," said Imogen, who appeared to have got over her annoyance and was now thoroughly enjoying herself. "While Maud was at Hogwarts I could see it being a problem. But she's fully of age, and respectably employed. She's even got her Apparation licence -"

Maud's head snapped up. Apparation, she thought with a shock. That was it, the connection she should have made long ago. Before she joined the Department of Secrets and learned the trick of silent Apparation for herself, she had noticed only two other people do it: Imogen, and the young Death Eater-turned-spy who had saved her life as a child...

"You're not just spying for Dumbledore, you're with the Department," she said abruptly, turning to Snape. "You've been on their payroll for years. That's how Glossop knew about you and me. Either she was watching you and listening to the rumours so closely that she figured it out on her own, or you told her about us yourself." She gave a little, incredulous laugh. "No wonder she said I wasn't quite what she'd been expecting."

"Did she say that?" His mouth bent in a wry smile. "Yes, I suppose she _would_ find you a pleasant surprise."

"Go on," prompted Imogen, watching the two of them with barely concealed glee.

"What?" said Snape, frowning at her.

"Oh, there's the scowl - good old Professor, how I'd missed you. No, really, do go on. You're supposed to say, 'As did I.'"

"As did I what?" Now he sounded irritable. Maud could just imagine how much fun he'd had dealing with Imogen in class.

"Find Maud a pleasant surprise, of course. Honestly!" Imogen gave him an exasperated look. "It's called a _compliment_, Severus - you don't mind if I call you Severus, do you? Not that it matters: I've been waiting to do it for years and I'll be hexed if I let you stop me now. The point is, you missed a perfectly good opportunity to say something nice to Maud, and I'm beginning to have serious doubts about you."

Maud pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. To distract herself, she watched the waiter as he led a party of two couples to the neighbouring table, only to have them shake their heads and motion him further on. Evidently, Imogen's Aversion Charm was doing its work.

"When either Maud or I decide that I need tutoring in the arts of courtship," Snape was saying to Imogen, with the extremely soft voice and precise enunciation that meant he was in danger of losing his temper, "I will know where to apply for advice. Until then, Miss Crump, may I suggest you mind your own bloody business?"

Imogen gave an incandescent grin and clapped her hands. "Oh, that's so sexy," she said. "Say it again."

Snape closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and pinched the bridge of his nose very hard, at which point Maud lost her self-control entirely and broke into helpless laughter.

"Excuse us," said Severus shortly, half-lifted Maud out of her chair, and pulled her after him, still hooting and wiping her eyes, through the restaurant and out into the darkened street.

The dim glow from the street-lamps gave them enough light to see each other, but not enough to be recognised from a distance; the noises of traffic, music and conversation would cover whatever they might choose to say. Maud sobered as the cool night air hit her, and looked up at Severus with mingled embarrassment and apology. He hated to be laughed at, she knew; and having his lover laugh at him in front of one of his former students would surely be a blow to his pride...

"The thing I have always found most galling about Imogen Crump," said Snape testily, "is that for a Hufflepuff with a name that sounds like a railway accident, she has an uncanny talent for speaking my mind."

Maud blinked. Was it her imagination, or had the corner of his mouth twitched?

"Though as it happens," he went on in a more conversational tone, "she underestimated my sentiments in this case." He took her arm, linking it through his. "It is not in my nature to be expansive, so I will only say this once: you are exquisitely lovely, maddeningly desirable, and altogether the best thing to happen to me in fifteen years. Walk with me."

"Excuse me," said Maud faintly, "I think I've just misplaced my brain. Am I likely to need it for the next few minutes?"

Severus gave a flicker of a smile, but now his eyes looked weary. "Unfortunately, yes. This is not a purely social visit, much as we both might wish otherwise."

"Oh," said Maud. Then, with some hesitation, "I assume this has to do with the reason you haven't written, called, or visited for two months?"

"Yes." He laid his hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow, and continued in a lower voice, "A few days after you left Hogwarts I received an anonymous letter, informing me in pointed and rather vulgar terms that I was being watched - and so were you. Under ordinary circumstances I might have dismissed it as the petty grudge of a disgruntled student. But when the letter acquired a razor edge and leaped for my throat, I realised that the writer was in deadly earnest."

Maud's mouth went dry. "Muriel?" she whispered.

"I came to the same conclusion, but not before acquiring a few painful lacerations and subjecting the letter to numerous magical and chemical tests." His jaw tightened. "I knew that Miss Groggins resented having been punished on our account, but I had not realised her hatred ran so deep."

"I did." Maud suppressed a shudder. "She told me she'd see me dead. She warned me to watch my back. But you?" She shook her head. "I don't know why she would blame you. Unless... unless somehow she found out the truth about you and me. And realised you'd allowed her to be punished and humiliated in front of the whole school for making 'false accusations' that were actually true."

"The tone of the letter did seem to indicate as much, yes." He paused. "She may have made contact with Dolores Umbridge, or whoever kept the Floo records during the time Hogwarts was under Ministry surveillance. Even at that it would be difficult to _prove_ our guilt, but the fact that you and I once travelled together from Hagrid's hut to my bedchamber would be... suggestive."

"And if she sent you a Slasher, she's either studying Dark magic or spending time with someone who does..." Maud bit her lip. "You checked up on that side of things, of course."

"I can be reasonably confident that she hasn't joined the Death Eaters; nor has she made contact with any of the Dark Lord's more powerful allies. But it may just be a matter of time until she does. In which case, Maud, those bottles of love potion on my office shelf may be our only defence... and you know what that means."

She swallowed. It hurt. "You've come to say goodbye."

"I have worked out a method," Severus continued, clearing his throat and gazing ahead into the darkness, "that should allow us to exchange letters without risk of interception or discovery; and I will tell you the secret of it before we part. But as for meeting face to face, here or elsewhere..." He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes shadowed. "It may be a long time before we see each other again."

There would be no arguing with him, Maud knew. He would never take so radical a step unless he was convinced they had no other choice. It would have been different if her safety, and his, were all he had to think of; in that case, they could surely have accepted the risk, and worked something out. But she had long suspected that there was a burden on his shoulders, and a task before him, greater than anything he had yet admitted to her. And the weight of that responsibility was what came between them now.

Pulling her arm free of his, she took his hand, drawing him with her into the shadow of an arched doorway. Then she turned, slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest, holding him close. His muscles tensed, and she felt his breath catch; then his arms came around her fiercely, and he dropped his face against her hair.

"I swear," he murmured, "one day, I will make this up to you."

"Don't," she whispered. "Just stay alive. Stay safe. That's all I want."

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "You don't ask much, do you? I'm not nearly so noble, I'm afraid. When I look at you, I want a good deal more than that... do you have any idea how close you came to making me break my oath to your uncle, that last night at Hogwarts?"

She flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I wasn't thinking clearly just then, only that I couldn't bear to leave you, and I would have given anything to put it off a little longer. But in retrospect, I knew what would have happened if you'd let me stay. I'm glad one of us has some sense."

"Not much," he said dryly. "I spent the next few minutes cursing myself for letting you go." His fingers traced the line of her bare shoulder, down to her elbow and back again, and she shivered, but not with cold. "However," he went on, "you are right. At best, it would have been short-sighted. At worst..."

"It would have been wrong." Then, as he remained silent, she added with a touch of anxiety, "Do you know what I mean?"

He gave her a faint smile, and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "I know."

"No compromises. All or nothing."

His hands framed her face, making her look up at him. "Yes. If I am to have you, Maud, I want no doubt from you, no hesitation. I want you honestly, freely, and completely, in our own comfortable bed with no one interrupting, and I am perfectly willing to make us both wait, as long as it takes, until that is possible." His teeth gleamed in a sudden, vulpine smile. "See how selfish I am?"

Maud's heart skipped several beats, and then began pounding in her ears. "I wouldn't call it selfishness," she said very slowly, "but you chose an... unusual possessive pronoun just now. Or am I analysing you too much?"

"What do you think?" His tone was neutral, his face unreadable. Even the question could be interpreted several different ways. Maud searched his eyes with her own for a moment, looking for a hint of amusement, a glitter of trepidation, anything that would tell her what he was really thinking; but that steady, level gaze refused to yield up any secrets. At last she said, throwing caution to the wind and speaking with considerably more calm than she felt:

"Yes."

Snape's dark brows quirked. "Yes?"

"Yes, if we survive the next... well, however long it takes before the Enemy is defeated and we're free to get on with our lives... I will marry you."

His face went very still. In an odd, tight voice he said, "I had not actually intended to ask-"

"No, of course not," said Maud gently. "You just assumed. It's all right, I'm used to it. But it is customary to ask before you start talking about jointly owned furniture, you know."

Severus threw back his head and laughed, a sudden unguarded shout of a laugh that echoed against the stone archway and made several passing Muggles look around. "Caught," he gasped when he could speak. "Beguiled, trapped, and outwitted. And by a novice in the Department, no less. Euphemia Glossop would have me out on my ear if she knew. My only excuse is to plead that the sight of you in that slip of a Muggle dress addled my wits."

"Did it?" asked Maud, simultaneously disconcerted and pleased.

"And for that I have Imogen to thank, no doubt," said Severus. "If I were not disinclined to annoy Euphemia by picking quarrels with her chosen successor, I would say that I have a score to settle with that young woman. However..." he stepped back from Maud, his hands sliding down to catch hers so that he held her at arm's length, "I am finding it difficult to feel vindictive toward anyone just now, even the impertinent Miss Crump."

He paused, his face sobering. "Maud, if anyone should be aware by now that my faults are many and serious, it is you. Knowing all that, can you honestly say you have no reservations about marrying me?"

"In all honesty," said Maud, "I have more reservations about _not_ marrying you. The thought of the havoc you might wreak, without my moderating influence -"

She got no further, because at that point Severus pulled her back into his arms with such force that he nearly knocked the breath out of her. Her lips parted on a rebuke, but a fraction of a second too late; his mouth claimed hers ruthlessly until she really _couldn't_ breathe, and she had to step on his foot to make him let her go.

"You deserved that," he told her without the slightest hint of remorse, as she made a futile effort to straighten the wild disarray of her hair. "Don't deny it."

"I don't," she said, still breathless, "but my teeth hurt, and I am not sure that I want to try that again. Severus..."

He caught her change in tone, and was instantly sober. "I know. We have just made matters considerably more complicated between us. It would have been more prudent for you to ignore my..." He paused, in the manner of a man who has just prevented himself from saying something unfortunate, and went on more deliberately, "careless phrasing, and for me to restrain my curiosity about your response."

"If it's any consolation," said Maud, "it doesn't really change anything. I could tell how seriously you took our relationship when you asked my uncle's permission just to _start_ it. So for me it wasn't a question of whether, only of when." She smiled. "Actually, I'm relieved to have the proposal part of things over with. I had tried to envision you down on one knee with a little box in your hand, and my imagination refused to accept it."

"As did mine, I assure you." He drew her back against him, more gently this time, and smoothed the hair back from her face. "Maud," he said, "promise me something."

"Anything."

Severus's brows shot up. "Have I told you that you trust me far too readily?"

"When you start abusing my trust," said Maud, "I may reconsider it. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to make a public reconciliation with your uncle." He held up a hand before she could object, and went on firmly, "If you and I are not seeing each other any more, and demonstrably so, then there is no longer any reason for you to stay away from him. And you will need him, Maud, believe me. If you are to bear this separation, you will need every friend you have."

"And what about you?" she asked softly.

"Oh, I will go on much the same as always - bitter and miserable, and sneering unpleasantly at everyone." He gave a twitch of a smile. "But I can at least enjoy the private satisfaction of having you to look forward to. You might call it a lapse in my habitual cynicism, if not hope."

She reached up, taking his face between her hands. "I love you," she said.

He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and dropped his forehead against hers. They stood there a long moment in silence. Then he drew a breath, straightened, and said, "Well, since this is our last time together for who knows how long, we ought to make the most of it."

"Imogen-"

"Will have paid your bill and left the restaurant. She knew I was coming for you, Maud. She won't hold it against you."

"I'm cold." She rubbed her arms in a futile attempt to warm them. "I should have brought my jacket."

"Take mine." He slid it off and draped it around her shoulders. "I might as well put this uncharacteristically lurid shirt to its intended use."

"It is effective, I'll admit," said Maud admiringly. "Wearing that, you look so different that hardly anyone would guess who you are."

"I could say as much for you," said Severus. "Nevertheless, for safety's sake I suggest we keep to ourselves." He put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her back onto the sidewalk with him. "St. James's Park?"

She smiled up at him. "Very romantic."

Snape made a contemptuous noise, and she laughed. She slid her arm around his waist, leaned her head on his shoulder, and they walked off into the darkness together.

#

"So..." said Imogen, leaning forward conspiratorially over the table, "What happened last night? Or-" she grinned - "is it too wild and wicked to tell?"

They were having breakfast at a little café around the corner from Maud's flat in Oxford. It was ten o'clock in the morning, but even so, Maud was nearly falling asleep in her tea.

She and Severus had walked for hours last night, conversing of many things: of Muriel, and how she might be dealt with; of the coming war against Voldemort, that now seemed closer than ever; of Snape's unofficial position as field operative for the Department of Secrets, and his peculiar friendship - which sounded more like an armed truce, thought Maud - with Euphemia Glossop. It was not like him to be talkative, and she could tell that even with her it was a strain: but she could guess why he might feel it necessary to fill the space between them with words, and she did not hinder him.

Toward the end, weary and hoarse, they stopped beneath a spreading oak and simply looked at each other. Then he bent his head and kissed her, for what they both knew might be the last time; and when he drew back his lips were parted, as though to speak the words he had never yet said. But in the end he had only given her a little, self-mocking smile that wrenched at her heart, took a step back, and Disapparated.

Maud looked blearily at Imogen and said, "Wild and wicked?"

"Well, we are talking about _him_, after all. Anyone that cold-blooded and vicious on the surface has to be madly passionate inside; it's the Heathcliff Principle."

"I hate to disappoint you," said Maud, who did not think it politic to mention that she had stopped halfway through Imogen's well-loved copy of _Wuthering Heights_, having barely restrained herself from flinging the book across the room, "but all we did was talk. Until about 3 a.m., granted, but..."

Imogen slumped back into her seat. "You're no fun at all," she mourned.

Maud gave her a thoughtful look. If Severus was right, then Imogen was more than just another Department liaison, she was Euphemia Glossop's own protégé. In any case, the events of last night proved that both Glossop and Severus trusted her absolutely. Maud liked Imogen, and valued her friendship; but did she really dare to tell her the whole truth?

If you are to bear this separation,

said Snape's voice with quiet authority in her mind, _you will need every friend you have..._

Maud took a deep breath. "Imogen."

The other witch's head came up, her eyes questioning.

"I have something to tell you," said Maud, "but I need you to keep a straight face and not make a scene about it."

"Can't do it," said Imogen promptly. "At least, not if it has anything to do with last night. Let's go back to your flat, and then I can whoop and shriek and flap my arms to my heart's content." She pushed her plate away, slapped a handful of coins down on the table, and hopped off the chair. "Right, we're off."

Half a block and three flights of stairs later, they walked into Maud's flat. With her usual brisk competence, Imogen locked the door, cast a Listener-Detecting Charm and a Privacy Charm in rapid succession, then flopped down on the sofa and said, "We're clear. Out with it."

"Professor Snape and I are engaged," said Maud.

Imogen stared at her with her mouth open for several seconds. Then she said faintly, "Did I really just hear the words 'Snape' and 'engaged' in the same sentence?"

"Yes."

"He actually asked you? And you said _yes_?"

"He did, and I did."

"But... you can't." She waved her hands in a vague, distressed gesture. "It's not possible."

Maud's mouth formed a hard line. "Look, I know you don't think much of Severus, and given that you've only seen the worst of him, I don't blame you. But-"

"Oh, no, it's not _that_," Imogen protested. "I mean, I wouldn't say he's my type, but he cleans up well enough, and now that I know he's in the Department I've no difficulty believing there must be a lot more to him than he ever let on at school. What I mean is, it makes no sense for the two of you to get engaged just now - you can't possibly get married until You-Know-Who is defeated."

Now it was Maud's turn to stare.

"Well," said Imogen, answering the unspoken question, "it makes sense, doesn't it? If he's pretending to be on the Enemy's side - which explains a lot, now that I think of it - he's got to keep his liabilities to a minimum. It would have been fairly easy to keep your relationship quiet while you were both at Hogwarts, but now..."

Maud dropped her face into her hands, and spoke hollowly between her fingers: "You're right, of course. But it's even worse than not being able to get married. Until all this is over, we can't even see each other."

Imogen sucked in her breath. "It _is_ the sensible thing to do," she said. "But- oh dear." She sat in silence for a moment; then she said, in a soft, serious voice that was very unlike her, "I'm so sorry, Maud. Is there anything I can do?"

"Defeat Voldemort," said Maud, with a shaky laugh.

"Oh, well, if _that's_ all..." Imogen bounced to her feet. "Right, then, see you in half an hour."

In spite of the aching numbness in her chest, Maud had to smile. Imogen grinned back, then threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Everything's going to be fine," she said. "I mean, if I'm going to come and cry buckets at your wedding there has to _be_ a wedding, right? Here, have my handkerchief. Oh, wait, not that one, sorry, the clean one's in the other sleeve... there. Now. Sit down, and I'll make you a cup of tea."

In her own way, reflected Maud as she sank gratefully into the armchair and watched the other woman bustling off into the kitchen, Imogen was as formidable as Glossop. In fact, she couldn't help thinking that it was a good thing that they were on the same side - because if Voldemort had someone like Imogen to rally him, comfort him, and advise him, he'd probably conquer the world.

#

There must have been at least ten different locks on Mad-Eye Moody's front door, not counting the magical ones and the ones Maud couldn't see. She rapped tentatively, stepped back a pace, and waited.

It had only been a few months since she had been here, and yet even in that time the neighbourhood had changed. Wizards and Muggles alike no longer greeted each other in the street, but shuffled by with wary, sidelong glances. Windows were barred, curtains drawn, and gates bore heavy chains. Maud almost had to wonder if her uncle had hexed all his neighbours into sharing his legendary paranoia - she wouldn't put it past him, especially if he thought it was for their own good.

With a series of loud snaps and rattles, the door unlocked, and Maud looked up into her uncle's blunt, scarred face. His good eye widened; then he gave a fearsome scowl and rasped, "What d'you want?"

"I..." It wasn't hard to feign her apprehension; it had been months since they had talked, and she had no idea how he might take the news she was about to give him. "I came to say I'm sorry."

"Hmph." He looked sceptical. "This had best not be a trick, girl, or you _will_ be sorry."

Maud doubted anyone was even watching, let alone listening, to be impressed by this charade. Still, there was no good reason to give it up quite yet. "No," she said, letting her voice quaver a little. "No, really, it's not a trick. Please, can I just come in for a few minutes?"

"A few minutes." He snorted. "More than you deserve, but-" He stumped off down the hallway toward the parlour, and after a moment's hesitation, Maud followed him in.

She had grown up in this house, knew every inch of it blind. It was here, among the Foe-Glasses, Sneakoscopes and other Dark magic-detecting bric-a-brac, that she had learned the lessons that would define her life: to watch for evil and guard against it; to stand her ground without hesitation or compromise; to love what was good with all her heart and all her mind and all her strength. Once a week, in defiance of the restrictions against underage wizardry, her uncle had put her mother's wand in her hand and made her battle him up and down these stairs, down that corridor and back again, barking instructions at her in his rough voice, while Maud giggled and Athena hooted excitedly on her shoulder.

Alastor Moody had never coddled his young ward, but he had never been cruel to her, either. And although she could not recall him ever saying that he loved her, she had no doubt that it was true. Strange as it might seem to others - most of whom knew her uncle only as an ugly, suspicious old man who had spent his life hunting down Dark wizards and didn't seem to know when to quit - Maud had been happy in this house, and no matter where she went or what she did, part of her would always call it home.

She followed the shuffle-clump sound of her uncle's peg-legged walk down the corridor and into the parlour. The heavy curtains were drawn, and the room was stuffy in the late August heat, but she knew better than to ask him to open the window. Alastor Moody's house was a prime target for a Death Eater attack, and his obsession with privacy was one of the few things that had kept him alive.

Carefully Maud turned and shut the door behind her. Then she looked back at her uncle, a massive hunched figure standing half-shadowed by the fireplace, and smiled. "I've missed you so much," she said.

He did not move, did not return her smile. Instead, he snapped out, "What was your mother's name?"

Maud raised her eyebrows a little. "Margaret, of course. Though everyone called her Margo."

"Why'd you go to Durmstrang?"

"To spy on Karkaroff, because I couldn't become an Auror and I needed to do something useful."

"What d'you think of that slimy weasel Snape?"

"Well," said Maud thoughtfully, "as of last night, he's my fiancé."

"What?"

Moody's magical eye nearly popped out of its socket. "Then what in the name of Cerberus are you doing here?"

Apparently, she'd passed muster. Maud pulled up a chair and sat down. "Because as far as everyone else is concerned, there is nothing between the two of us, and never was. If Voldemort ever hears otherwise, Severus is going to grit his teeth and admit, with the utmost reluctance, that he dosed me with love potion for the last few months of school, and then hit me with a Memory Charm as I was leaving. And there will be no proof that there was anything more than that between us, because-" she took a deep breath- "we're not going to see each other until all this is over."

Moody dropped heavily into the armchair beside her and stuck his wooden leg up on the ottoman. "You took a risk telling me all that, lass. I know you're the real thing, now; but how do you know I'm really your uncle?"

Maud shook her head in disbelief. "Do you think I can't tell the difference, after all these years? Dumbledore might not see you often enough to know the real you from an impostor, but no Death Eater in disguise could ever hope to fool me. The way you swivel your left hip when you walk, the tic in your good eye that only shows up when you're fighting the temptation to smile... don't worry, Uncle. I haven't forgotten what you taught me."

"There's my Maudie." He grinned at her. "I've missed you, too."

"So... am I forgiven?"

"That depends on what you want forgiving for. If all you want is to put our mock differences aside and be seen as family again, I've no objection. But..." His eyes narrowed. "When it comes to this business of marrying Snape..."

"I'm too young, I'm too trusting, I surely don't know him well enough yet, there are plenty of nice young men in the world so what do I want with the likes of him, do I think I'm going to live at Hogwarts and what makes me think he's got anything better to offer me..." She paused from ticking off arguments on her fingers, and looked up at him. "Have I missed anything?"

"Yes, you have." His face was grave, the lines around his mouth carved deep. "What's it going to do to you, Maudie, when he gets himself killed?"

A chill knot tied itself in her stomach. "Not _when_," she said in a tight voice. "_If_. And that's a very big _if_, Uncle. Severus knows what he's doing; he's spied against Voldemort before and he can do it again-"

"It's not just Voldemort. The troops are gathering on both sides; you've seen that. And if it comes to war, your Snape is just as likely to get brought down by our side as the enemy's. For every cowardly fool like Fudge, pretending not to see the tree until it falls on him, there's another fierce old veteran like me, itching to fight and determined to pull no punches. All it takes is one of those to show up at some Death Eater raid-"

"Stop it." Her knuckles were white. "Any one of us could be killed, if it comes to that. Me. You. Dumbledore, even. I'm not going to stop living, stop caring, because I'm afraid of losing the people I love."

"Nor should you, girl." In spite of the gruffness, his voice was almost gentle. "But you'd best not ignore those fears, either. You've given your heart to a marked man - best be prepared to face the worst. Practice living without him, thinking without him; the same way you used to practice finding your way without Athena, and for the same reason. Because if you don't, then whatever hits him will also cripple you."

Maud let her breath out. "You know that's the last thing I want to think about right now."

"I know." He gave her a twitch of a smile. "That's why I said it. Snape would tell you the same, if he were here: you know that."

She nodded reluctantly. "He told me I would need you. And he was right."

"Ah, Maudie." He shook his head. "You never do take the easy road, do you? Are you sure you don't just want some nice boy your own age, who'll work an honest job and keep his head down and bring you flowers on your anniversary?"

"Well... I could marry George Weasley, I suppose. Only the flowers would probably squirt Ogden's Old Firewhisky and sing bawdy songs for the next week." She gave a faint smile. "I can live without flowers, Uncle. I don't even want them, really."

"Just as well, I suppose." He heaved a grating sigh. "You'd only stick them in a cauldron and make some ghastly concoction out of them anyway."

Maud laughed, and dropped a kiss on his weathered cheek. "Dear old Uncle Alastor," she said. "I could wish it were under better circumstances, but... it's good to be home."


	4. Virtuous Men

The sky over London was the colour of slate, and a chill breeze tugged at Maud's overcoat as she made her way along the familiar route from the Apparation point to St. Mungo's Hospital. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, but already the traffic had begun to thicken, and the sidewalks would soon be full of Muggles hurrying to and from their places of business. It looked like another ordinary day.

A swift, flickering shadow passed over her, and she looked up to see Demeter, Tony Gamble's barn owl, beating her way ahead with the latest _Daily Prophet_ in her talons. Not for the first time, Maud thought wistfully that it might be nice to have an owl of her own again; but as always, she held the thought only a second or two before pushing it aside. It still felt like treachery to even think of replacing Athena.

By the time Maud had passed through the main entrance to St. Mungo's and climbed the requisite three flights of stairs, Demeter had completed her delivery and flapped out again. Maud pushed open the door to the laboratory and walked in, to see Tony sitting at his workbench with the newspaper in his hands, and Sarah looking at the headlines over his shoulder.

Immediately Maud could tell that something was wrong. They were both too still, too quiet. Tony's characteristic dynamism seemed to have deserted him, leaving him hollow; and although there was nothing unusual about Sarah looking haunted, her eyes seemed somehow sadder and darker than Maud had ever seen them before.

"What is it?" Maud asked, and winced as her voice echoed through the room, the question ringing out brazenly in the silence. Too loud, she thought: but then, even a whisper would have seemed intrusive.

Tony laid the paper down slowly and pushed it across the table toward her. His face was grey, and his mouth twitched as though he were struggling to contain some powerful emotion. Fearing what she might see, yet knowing she had no choice, Maud forced herself to read the boldly printed headline:

_EXPLOSION IN ABERDEEN LEAVES 2 DEAD, 13 MISSING_   
_Wizard-run Orphanage Destroyed in Early Morning Tragedy_

She looked up sharply. "Not Thistledown Lane," she said.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. "Callum," he choked out. With abrupt violence he crumpled up the paper and hurled it into the wastebasket. Then he leaped to his feet, snatched his cloak from the stand and Disapparated.

For a moment Maud and Sarah both stood staring at the place where he had been. Then Maud said slowly, "He didn't even know until he got the paper? Why didn't anyone tell him?"

"They probably tried," said Sarah in her small, colourless voice. "But he didn't go home last night..." She flushed, and her hands twisted in the dark grey fabric of her robes.

Maud was tempted to ask why he hadn't, or how Sarah knew; but at the sight of the other woman's stricken expression, she decided against it. Instead, she walked around the desk and retrieved the _Prophet_ from the wastebasket. Carefully she laid the paper back down on the workbench and smoothed it out to read more of the front-page article:

_Residents of Thistledown Lane were shocked awake this morning by an explosion that lit up the sky and shattered windows on both sides of the street. Neighbours running to investigate the source of the blast found only a charred skeleton of the tall Victorian-era house at number 53, and the bodies of owners Callum and Bridget Gamble lying lifeless in the wreckage. There was no sign of the 13 orphaned children who were also living in the house at the time of the incident._

_"I was just pulling on my socks, when there came this great bang and a flash," says Septimus Fogg, wizard and long-time resident of the boarding house at 38 Thistledown. "I looked out the window - and the house was just gone."_

_The cause of the tragedy has yet to be determined, but Muggle and Ministry of Magic authorities are promising a thorough investigation, as well as a search for the missing orphans._

_"It's a dreadful thing," says local witch Hattie Bright, who has lived across the street from the Gambles for the last twelve years. "They were such lovely people, such good neighbours - and they always had such a way with the children."_

Maud closed her eyes. She could imagine what Tony must be feeling right now: the grief, and the misery, and the rage...

"Do you think it was-" began Sarah timidly, and stopped. There was no need for her to continue; they both knew what she meant.

"Yes," said Maud with bleak conviction. "I do."

This was not the first troubling incident to make the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_. Over the past two months, several people had vanished or been found dead in similar circumstances, and although the Muggle papers inevitably offered some mundane theory as to how and why it had happened, the wizarding world knew better. Though Voldemort himself had yet to make a public appearance, he and his Death Eaters - including Lucius Malfoy and several others newly freed from Azkaban - had not been idle; and over every disappearance, every scene of devastation, hovered the ghastly spectre of the Dark Mark.

"But why them?" asked Sarah softly. "Callum never did anything against You-Know-Who; he was only seventeen when the first war ended. And Bridget - she was a Muggle. The children were probably all Muggles, too-"

"Of course they were," said Maud bitterly. "If Callum had married a witch, if the orphans they looked after were pureblood - there'd be no reason for the Enemy to make an example of them."

Sarah bowed her head, tangled curls shadowing her face. "I only hope," she murmured, "the children are all right."

"So do I," said Maud softly, looking down at the picture on the _Prophet's _front page, where a cheerful-looking couple stood surrounded by a struggling, laughing, bouncing knot of orphans. "Believe me, so do I."

#

_...Tony came back after an hour or so, but he was too shaken to concentrate, so Sarah and I finally persuaded him to go home. He and his younger brother were very close, and even though they'd quarrelled over Callum marrying Bridget, Tony said he soon learned what a mistake he'd made in opposing the match - she turned out to be a wonderful woman, and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself for misjudging her. I've never seen a man so completely devastated. Especially when he said there was still no sign of the children..._

Maud paused, her quill suspended over the parchment, and read over the letter she'd written. It might have been to anyone, she thought a little ruefully: even the salutation was a mere _Dear Severus_, and gave away nothing. Even though she knew their system of communication was secure - letters encoded with an Anagrammatica Charm that made them look like dull business correspondence, filed in the top drawer of Glossop's leftmost cabinet in a folder marked "Accounts Overdue" - she still found it difficult to put down on paper the deepest thoughts and feelings of her heart. Too many years of writing nothing but school assignments and progress reports to Uncle Alastor seemed to have left her quill-tied.

Which was ironic, really, because Snape's letters were positively eloquent. Perhaps because it was his first opportunity to speak his mind freely, without distraction or interruption; and as he himself had said in his first letter, the act of putting words on paper had a permanence that compelled him to be honest:

_...the face and the tongue may deceive, and no one be the wiser; but it is a different art to lie with ink and parchment, and one which I confess I have never had either reason or inclination to master. So in these letters you can depend on hearing nothing more or less from me than the simple, unvarnished truth. ..._

_... I love you. Does it surprise you to see me write those words, when I have never said them? You would no doubt be still more surprised to know how easy they were to write. And yet, with that quiet insight of yours that never ceases to astonish me, you have never questioned the reality of my love just because I did not avow it openly. You were gracious enough to accept my actions and not demand the words._

_It was not cowardice that kept me silent, as I trust you know. But until I could be sure that I had proven my love to you, I believed it would be a mockery and an insult to declaim it. Since you have told me you will marry me - the ultimate confirmation - I say it now: but only with the undefiled honesty of my pen. This unlovely mouth of mine has spoken far too many half-truths and lies, even in the cause of good; until I can renounce this shadow-life and show the world my soul's true face, I have no right to speak aloud of something so essentially sacred._

_But when the Dark Lord is destroyed, and I am free to shed this skin of deceit and become the man only you and Dumbledore have ever guessed lies within me - then I will shout my love for you from the tallest tower at Hogwarts, if you wish it. (Although I suspect my students, no less than myself, would greatly prefer that you didn't.) ..._

Maud smiled at the memory, and looked back down at her half-written page. If Severus had been disappointed by her previous letters, he had not said so. Still, she felt that she owed it to him to at least try to overcome her reticence, to give him some small repayment for the candour with which he had written to her. She nibbled the end of her quill for a moment (a bad habit from her childhood, often fought but never broken), then began to write once more:

_I think of you every day. Well, actually, several times a day..._

It wasn't exactly poetry, but it was a start.

#

"Maud? Are you there? Hey, woman, answer your fire!"

The familiar voice echoed through the flat, startling her. With a hasty flick of her wand she banished the last of the breakfast dishes to the sink, then wiped her hands on a tea-towel and walked out into the living room, to see George's head grinning at her from the hearth.

"Got some news for you," he said, raising his voice above the crackling of the flames. "Sorry to interrupt your morning routine, but this can't wait. Puddlemere vs. Montrose, League Cup semi-final. Starts in two hours... and I've got the tickets right here."

"I'm... happy for you?" said Maud, with a faint frown between her brows. Why would he call her up just to tell her that?

"Not me, you dunce. You. We're both going."

"Me?" She was taken aback. "What about Fred?"

"He's coming too, with Angelina - seems they've got something on again. But we couldn't get four seats all together, and I won the toss for the two best ones. Point is, you may have dodged sport for years on account of being blind, but now you can see again you've no excuse, and I'm going to make a raving Quidditch nutter out of you if it kills me."

She gave a little, disbelieving laugh. "Isn't it too cold for Quidditch?"

"Are you mad? It's never too _anything_ for Quidditch. Stop arguing and start packing. Meet me at The Burrow, and we'll go on together from there..."

"I've never been to your house."

"For pity's sake," said George. "Anybody would think you didn't _want_ to go. So what if you can't Apparate - use Floo powder. Twenty minutes enough?"

Reluctantly, Maud nodded.

"Right. See you." With a faint pop, he disappeared.

It was not exactly what Maud had planned for her Saturday afternoon, especially since she had little interest in sport; but George would enjoy trying to convert her, and she supposed there were worse ways to spend the day. Still, she ought to call Imogen before she went. She took a jar from the mantelpiece, tossed a handful of dust into the fire, and as the flames flared green she called out, "Imogen! Are you there?"

It was customary to put her head into the fire, she knew; but her voice would work just as well, and save her kneeling amid the ashes. Of course, she wouldn't be able to see Imogen this way, but then she didn't really need to. "Imogen?"

"I'm here," came a voice faintly, and then louder, "Maud?"

"Yes, it's me. I just wanted to tell you I'm going out today, so I hope you didn't have anything planned-"

"Going out, and not with me?" Imogen affected a wounded tone. "What could possibly compare to the joys of my company?"

"The joys of Quidditch, apparently. George Weasley just called up to invite me to a match."

"Ooh, the semi-final! I'd thought of going to that." She paused. "I wonder if I can still get a ticket. If worst comes to worst, I could go early and hang about the stadium a bit; there's usually a goblin or two lurking about, hoping to turn a profit..."

"You want to come?" Maud was surprised. "I didn't know you liked Quidditch."

"Well, I'm not quite as deranged about it as some people I know, but I take in a match now and then. Besides-" and now Maud could hear the smile in her voice- "I've been dying to meet this George of yours."

"He's too young for you," Maud warned her.

"Oh, pish-tosh. I'm not choosy. And by the way, my dear, you do know what they say about people who live in glass houses?"

Maud wasn't entirely sure George Weasley would appreciate being sized up by a strange witch more than six years his senior, but she had to admit Imogen had a point.

#

Maud had been born and raised in the wizarding world, but even so, the sight of a Quidditch stadium rising out of the mists of Dartmoor gave her an unpleasant shock. Planted smug and foursquare in the midst of that vast, rugged wilderness, its gleaming walls in stark contrast to the ancient and lichen-encrusted stone on which it stood, its very existence seemed presumptuous. The cold stillness of the atmosphere, the low and leaden sky, was like a rebuke to which no one was listening.

"Great place, isn't it?" said George enthusiastically. Eyes fixed on the stadium, he bounced up to the gate, where a tired-looking witch was checking tickets. Maud sighed, apologised silently to the moor on behalf of wizards everywhere, and followed him.

"Where are Fred and Angelina?" she asked.

"Dunno. They went out for lunch first - might not even be here yet."

"Red Section," said the witch wearily, handing George back the tickets. "Third aisle to your left, and straight up."

Outside the stadium, a thick layer of fog and spells had swallowed all sound; but as they entered, the hubbub of excited chatter, of calls and whistles and the hoarse shouts of vendors clambering up and down the aisles, was nearly deafening. "Is it always this loud?" Maud shouted in George's ear.

"Nah," he yelled back, "it'll be better once the match starts. Come on."

Maud had been bracing herself for a chilly afternoon, and had brought gloves and an extra cloak just in case; but in a stadium packed with people, most of whom seemed to be well supplied with bottled fires or Warming Charms or both, the temperature was actually quite comfortable. They had just found their seats, and were settling in between a burly middle-aged wizard wearing what looked like an enormous stuffed magpie on his head and a tiny witch with a navy scarf patterned with gold bulrushes, when an unexpected voice rang out from the aisle:

"Maud Moody, as I live and breathe! What are you doing here-" a gasp, as Maud and George turned their heads at the same time- "with a _Weasley_?"

"Hello, Annie," said Maud resignedly.

Her former dorm-mate had not changed a whit since Hogwarts, it seemed: still pretty, still curly-haired, and still dangerously loose in the tongue. "Wait until I tell Muriel," she giggled. "She'll spit nails... oops, I shouldn't have said that, should I? Now, are you Fred or George?"

"Does it matter?" said George dryly.

Annie flashed her dimples at him. "Probably not."

"You said _tell Muriel_." Maud frowned. "Do you mean she's here?"

"Of course. Her cousin's a Beater for the Magpies, didn't you know? He gets her tickets whenever she wants them. I had to grovel like mad to get her to let me come along, it was really degrading, but I talked her around in the end, so here I am."

"Just like a Slytherin," muttered George.

Maud cleared her throat.

"What? Oh." He gave her a faintly sheepish grin. "So I forgot. It's not my fault you're abnormal."

"Thank you," said Maud. She turned back to Annie. "Is Lucinda here too?"

Annie's smile faded. "No. She's... not doing so well. After what happened, you know..."

Maud didn't, and was just opening her mouth to ask, when a horn blared and the crowd erupted into a roar. Annie's head came up suddenly, like a startled deer's. "They're starting!" she exclaimed, and scampered off up the stairs.

"And now, Quidditch fans," boomed the announcer's disembodied voice over the din, "it's time to welcome... the Montrose Magpies!"

"Here," George yelled at her, shoving a battered pair of omnioculars into her hands. "I nicked Ron's, he doesn't need them at Hogwarts anyway."

As the music swelled and the black-and-white robed Magpies came swooping onto the field to the sound of wild applause, Maud put the omnioculars to her eyes and scanned the crowd. There were Fred and Angelina, a few rows down and to the left; Fred was wearing a Magpies hat, while Angelina sported a rosette in the Puddlemere colours. That, Maud thought wryly, should make for an interesting afternoon...

Shifting her line of vision upward, in the direction Annie had run off, she found Muriel in the Gold Section. She was scowling at Annie, who was wringing her hands and seemed to be apologising for something. Apparently, even the prospect of dire vengeance on Snape and Maud had not succeeded in making Muriel happy.

Not for the first time, Maud found herself wondering why the Slasher had come to Severus, and not to her. Muriel might not have been able to find out yet where Maud was living, or where she worked; but she could have sent some malicious packet by owl-post, and at least had the satisfaction of imagining what it would do to Maud when she opened it. Revenge might be a dish best served cold, but surely there were limits to even Muriel's patience?

George nudged her with his shoulder. "Oi! Pay attention, will you? The game's about to start."

Obediently Maud turned back toward the field, but under the guise of watching the players move into starting formation, she scanned the crowd on the opposite side of the pitch for some sign of Imogen. If she were here at all, it shouldn't be hard to find her; few witches or wizards dressed as brightly as she did...

"Excuse me," said a familiar voice to her right, "would you mind switching seats with me? Mine's a lot better - look."

Maud turned her head sharply, to see Imogen, resplendent in citron and turquoise, showing a gold-edged ticket to the little witch with the Puddlemere scarf. "D'you mean it?" squeaked the witch, her eyes widening. "You want to swap with _me_?"

"Well, since you're sitting beside my best friend, yes." Imogen gave Maud a swift, acknowledging grin. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll appreciate the view more than I would."

"Oh, my - oh, well - thank you very much indeed!" Her thin face transfigured with delight, the witch scurried off up the stairs, clutching the Gold Section ticket against her heart. Imogen watched her go, then plopped into the seat she had vacated and stretched herself out with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Took me long enough to find you two," she said. "Did I miss anything?"

Maud glanced over at George, but he did not seem to have heard Imogen's question, or indeed to notice that she was there. His omnioculars were glued to his eyes, and his lips were parted eagerly as he followed the action of the players. "Oh, well done," he breathed. "Nice pass to Templar - ooh, close one - come on, come on -"

"How did you manage to get such a good ticket?" asked Maud curiously.

Imogen shrugged. "I pulled a few strings. Figured I'd need a half-decent seat if I was going to swap." She tipped her head to the side and regarded George with lively interest. "Not bad," she said, "if you like red hair and freckles." Reaching past Maud, she tapped George on the shoulder. "Put down those 'ocs for a second, will you?"

George gave a start and nearly dropped the omnioculars. "What-" he began to say to Maud, and then his eyes slid past her to Imogen, who was waving cheerily at him from the next seat. "Where'd _she_ come from?"

"Imogen Crump," said Imogen, sticking out her hand. "George Weasley, I presume. Lovely eyes, by the way. Your mother's?"

"SCORE!" boomed the announcer, and the crowd erupted into cheers. George let out his breath in exasperation. "Now look what you've done," he complained. "I missed it."

"Never mind," said Imogen consolingly. "There'll be plenty more. By the way, are you always this rude, or did I just catch you on a good day?"

George reddened. "Sorry. But - do you mind if we do the introductions later? There's a match on."

"Oh, well, if you say so," said Imogen with a shrug, and settled back into her seat. "Men."

For the next few minutes they were silent, watching the game. It wasn't dull, Maud had to admit: the players clearly knew what they were doing, and their aerial manoeuvres were often quite impressive. Still, she couldn't help but be struck by the triviality of the exercise. When eight witches and wizards had been abducted or killed outright in the past two months, and thirteen orphaned children were still missing, what difference did it make whether this witch in black and white or that wizard in navy blue lobbed a red leather ball through a hoop? Yet here in the stadium at least, people seemed infinitely more concerned with the latter than the former...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shrill cry from the stands below, and she instinctively swerved her omnioculars toward it. A little girl was standing on her seat and pointing down the aisle, her small face white with terror. Her father swept her up in his arms in an effort to calm her, but she continued to shriek and wriggle and would not be consoled.

Imogen half-started out of her seat. "What's up with-" she began, and then the screaming started.

A tall, black, hooded figure was emerging from the shadows at ground level. Its face was shadowed, but its hands gleamed bloodless white. As it glided swiftly up the aisle, a wave of terror swept over the crowd: witches and wizards alike cried out and began scrambling over each other in an effort to get away from it.

"What kind of idiot would let a Dementor-?" Imogen sputtered, then drew a sharp breath and rounded on George. "Can you conjure a Patronus?" There was no need to ask Maud, of course: even if she hadn't mastered it at Durmstrang, a working knowledge of the Patronus Charm was standard Department of Secrets training.

"Done it a couple of times, yeah," said George.

"Right, then. You stay here, try to keep people calm, hold off the Dementor if somehow it gets past us. Maud, you're with me-"

"Imogen," said Maud in a strangled voice. "There's more of them."

Black-robed figures were pouring into the stadium from every entrance, sweeping around the aisles, surrounding the pitch. Up to that moment the Quidditch players had continued their game, absorbed in the heat of competition; now they, too, panicked and went veering off in every direction, some of them even soaring right up over the stands in a desperate effort to escape.

"Witches and gentlewizards," echoed the announcer, sounding shaken, "please remain calm-"

"No hope of that," said Imogen grimly, her voice raised above the shrieks and bellows of the crowd. Already the aisles were jammed with people trying to get away from the Dementors, and wizards and witches were fainting everywhere.

"Why don't they just Disapparate?" asked George with a frown.

Imogen shook her head. "Too panicked to think straight, possibly. Afraid they'll splinch themselves. Or -" She looked over at him. "Why don't you give it a try?"

He stared at her. "And leave you two alone? What kind of coward do you think I am?"

"Not _away_," explained Imogen patiently. "Just to the top of the stands and back again. Go on."

George drew a deep breath, and for an instant his body seemed to flicker; then he staggered, clapped a hand to his head, and swore mightily.

"I was afraid of that," said Imogen. "We're not just dealing with Dementors - haven't you noticed how short some of them are? The Death Eaters are here in force... and they're not going to let anybody just Disapparate away."

A blast of chill air billowed up from below, and Maud squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately not to give in to the rising tide of hysteria-

"Fight, you fools!" cried Imogen, leaping up on her seat. "Stand and fight! We outnumber them fifty to one!" When no one appeared to be listening, she levelled her wand at the nearest Dementor and shouted, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

An enormous, dazzlingly silver form erupted from her wand. It was a winged horse, massive and thickly muscled, rearing on its hind legs to lash out with hooves and teeth. The Dementor staggered and fell back, sending three other hooded figures behind it tumbling, and Imogen lowered her wand with a bleak smile of satisfaction.

"Didn't you say she was a _Hufflepuff?"_ asked George, sounding amazed.

"That's right," said Imogen before Maud could reply, clambering down from the seat again. "Let it never be said that hard work doesn't pay off. Come on, Maud, let's see what else we can do here-"

"Enough."

It was a chill, hissing voice, high-pitched and bloodless. Like the announcer's, it seemed to come from all around them, echoing throughout the stadium. The sound of it froze everyone in their places; within seconds the screaming dwindled to sobs and whimpers, and Maud could hear George's breathing.

"Take your seats and be still," commanded the cold voice. "My servants will not harm you. That is, not unless you are foolish enough to provoke them - or to defy me."

There was a sudden rattle of seats as three-quarters of the crowd sat down. The others remained standing, but did not move. The initial terror that had gripped the spectators seemed to have given way to despair, and as the Dementors and Death Eaters - identical at a glance, with their black hooded robes and their features obscured by shadow - spread out across the stadium, many bowed their heads, or put their hands over their faces.

"I am pleased to see," said the disembodied voice sibilantly, "that you all recognise the futility of opposing me. Keep that thought in mind: it will serve you well."

"Oh, stop posturing and get to the point," muttered Imogen. For an instant George looked startled; then he grinned and gave her the thumbs-up sign as the voice went on:

"I have come to you this afternoon to offer you a chance. A _last_ chance. Soon, a new day will dawn. The filth and rubbish will be swept away, and only the true, pure-blooded wizarding race will remain."

Wisps of grey fog threaded in from above, swirling together in the centre of the Quidditch pitch. "Already," the voice continued, "you have tasted my power and learned to fear it-"

The mists coalesced suddenly, forming a vast floating shape - the head and shoulders of a man, or something more than a man: a skull-like visage with glowing red eyes, slitted nostrils and a lipless slash of a mouth. There was a collective, shuddering intake of breath, and at the same moment the voice rang out high and triumphant:

"I am Lord Voldemort!"

Cries of desperate terror echoed through the stands. In the next aisle, a wizard turned grey, clutched at his heart and collapsed.

"Yes," continued the voice with gloating satisfaction. "At last I have returned, reborn and stronger than ever before - and be assured that you have not even begun to guess at what I and my faithful servants can do.

"If you join me now, and bow before me, your lives will be spared. If you refuse-" the voice hardened- "you will be destroyed."

There was an awful pause, and even Imogen went still. Maud looked back at George, saw his face white and set in defiance, his mouth struggling as though he wanted to shout back at Voldemort but was still too appalled to frame a coherent sentence. Then, unexpectedly:

"Never!" snapped out another voice, cracked and wavering, but fierce with determination. Apparently, some old veteran had finally recovered enough presence of mind to use Sonorus. "We're ready, and we'll fight! We beat you and your Death Eaters once, and we'll beat you again!"

"_You_ beat me?" Voldemort's voice dripped contempt. "Presumptuous fool. No man has beaten me. Escaped me, for a time, yes - but I will always win, in the end."

The old wizard cackled. "What about the Potter boy, eh? He fixed you, didn't he?"

"Good one!" breathed George appreciatively.

But Voldemort's image only looked amused. "You think that squalling infant was responsible for my defeat? He was - _is_ \- nothing. It was my own carelessness that ruined me - oh, yes, I admit it. I, Lord Voldemort, defeated myself. But rest assured, I will not make the same mistake again. In fact, I have already prepared myself against the Potter brat. Now the boy's own blood runs in my veins, and when I choose to eliminate him-" his voice lowered to a purr- "nothing - and _no one_ \- can protect him from me."

Gasps of dismay rose from the crowd, but the old wizard piped up undaunted: "Albus Dumbledore can! You might not be afraid of Harry Potter, but you're afraid of _him!_ If he beat old Grindlewald, he can fix you! And with him on our side we're sure to win - you just wait and see!"

"Yes!" cried a young witch, ripping off her Puddlemere scarf and waving it in the air. "Dumbledore!"

"Hooray for Dumbledore!" shouted Fred from below, leaping onto his seat.

"Dumbledore!" cried George almost simultaneously, doing the same. "Three cheers for Harry, Hogwarts, and Dumbledore!"

It was the spark that rekindled the flame: all over the stadium, lowered heads came up, and dull eyes shone with revitalised hope. "Dum-ble-dore!" came the chant, swelling in volume as it rose through the ranks of spectators. "DUM-BLE-DORE! DUM-BLE-"

The image of Voldemort threw back its ghastly head and laughed, a high chilling laugh that reverberated through the stadium. The chant faltered, losing its rhythm, and although a few brave souls tried valiantly to keep it up, in the end the sound of that terrible laughter defeated even them. Because it was _knowing_ laughter, the laughter of a man who holds all the cards and is just about to lay them down.

A cold fist clenched around Maud's heart. Blindly, she reached for the back of the seat in front of her and gripped it hard.

"You fools," said Voldemort's misty image, with a terrible smile. "Because you see and speak with my avatar, do you imagine that _I_ am here? And do you really believe that the few servants of mine you see around you, these Dementors I have gathered to the feast, are the full strength of my army?

"Outside the walls of this stadium, at this very moment, are gathered the forces of your pathetic Ministry, trying to break through the web of spells my Death Eaters have cast and free you. And in the end, no doubt, they will succeed. But while they spend their energies here, Albus Dumbledore waits in vain for their support at Hogwarts... and it is there that I, my true self, have gone to destroy him..."

Maud closed her eyes. _No, _she grieved silently. _No..._

"YES!" thundered the shadow of Voldemort, in an ecstasy of triumph. "In this very moment, the bait is taken! The trap is sprung! And Albus Dumbledore, your hero, your friend, your would-be saviour...

"...is _dead!"_


	5. Harms and Fears

There was a moment of dreadful silence as every spectator in the stadium stared, appalled, at the gloating spectre of Voldemort. Then a murmur rippled through the crowd, breaking into babbled fragments of denial and despair:

"It _can't_ be - not Dumbledore-"

"Oh, great Merlin - what are we going to do?"

"Mummy? It isn't true, is it? Mummy?"

Somewhere behind them a woman began to sob, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. Maud raised her omnioculars and looked up the stands, to see the little witch who had swapped tickets with Imogen - and in the row behind, Annie and Muriel. Annie was white, and her hands gripped the arms of her seat; but Muriel sat forward eagerly, her face flushed with exultation.

_She's been waiting for this, _thought Maud, sickened. _She's loving every minute..._

"He's lying," said George furiously. Imogen put a restraining hand on his shoulder; he wrenched away from her and screamed at Voldemort, "You're lying!"

"No," Maud said. The churning feeling of apprehension in her stomach had taken on the still, cold weight of certainty. "He's not."

"Are you mad?" George rounded on her, his face a ghastly grey-white beneath his blazing shock of hair. "You really think he just waltzed up to the gates of Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore, easy as that? Even if Dumbledore wasn't strong enough to beat You-Know-Who by himself, what about the other teachers? The students? They wouldn't stand by and let something like that happen, unless-" He choked suddenly, unable to finish the sentence, but Maud knew what he was thinking: _Unless they're all dead too._

"You're right," said Imogen, looking grim. "It doesn't make sense, on the surface. But if the Enemy had taken Hogwarts, either by force or by treachery, he'd have said so. The only thing I can think is that he must have called Dumbledore out, somehow - told him he was willing to make a deal, and then double-crossed him -"

George shook his head fiercely. "Dumbledore's a genius. No way he'd fall for a trick like that."

_But he knew, George, _Maud wanted to say. _He knew this would happen. He knew it had to happen. And Severus knew it, too..._Still, there was no way to explain that conviction, much less prove it. So she simply reached out to grasp George's hand in sympathy as Voldemort's mocking voice reverberated around the stands once more:

"By all means, deny it, if you cannot bear to face the truth. Cling to your last shreds and tatters of hope as long as you can. It will not change the fact that at this very moment, the body of Albus Dumbledore lies in ashes at my feet -"

George closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

"- and before this day is out, the whole wizarding world will know it. So, old man -" the red eyes glowed with malice - "do you still feel ready to fight me now?"

There was a significant pause. Maud snatched up her omnioculars again and scanned the crowd until she found the elderly wizard, standing stiff and a little hunched in the middle of Green Section, with empty seats all around him. He had taken off his pointed hat and was holding it over his heart - in deference to Dumbledore, Maud guessed. For a moment his mouth trembled, and his eyes were clouded and downcast; but then all at once his chin came up and he looked the shadow of Voldemort straight in the eye.

"Yes, I am," he said. "I'd rather die fighting than bend the knee to the likes of you. So do your worst - I'm ready."

_"My _worst?" Voldemort gave a cold laugh. "You are not worthy of such a privilege. But rest assured, you will have your wish."

He had barely finished speaking when a Dementor detached itself smoothly from the ranks of Voldemort's followers and glided up the aisle. George swore under his breath and started forward, but at the same moment the old wizard raised his wand in a swift, almost elegant gesture, and his voice rang out shrill and clear: _"Expecto Patronum!"_

The silvery form that leaped from the tip of his wand made even Imogen's jaw drop. It was a phoenix, vast and luminescent, wings outspread and long tail trailing like a banner, beak open in a soundless cry of furious pride. The Dementor fell back, hissing, and for a moment the old man's face shone with triumph; then two more black-robed figures seized him from behind, and his look changed to one of terror as they wrenched the wand from his hand.

"Somebody levitate me," said Imogen fiercely. "If I can get down there -"

But it was too far, and already it was too late. The Dementors had closed in, their hooded heads bent hungrily toward their prey _-_

"Immolate!"the old wizard shouted, and a gout of blue-white flame went up from the place where he had been standing. The Dementors' hands closed on emptiness, and Maud turned her face away.

"He did that wandless," whispered Imogen, sounding thunderstruck. "Who _was_ he?"

"Well, it hardly matters now," said George bitterly.

If Voldemort was taken aback by the old man's spectacular end, he gave no sign of it. "You see what happens to those who oppose me," he said smoothly. "So I say again, for the last time: submit to me. Join me. For those wise enough to know their true master, it will not be difficult. You may even find your loyalty rewarded. But for the rest... a taste of what is to come..."

His voice faded. The mists swirled, broke apart, and he was gone.

In that moment, pandemonium erupted. People began to howl and shriek and moan, clutching their heads in their hands; some staggered blindly about; others simply sat motionless, staring at nothing. Even halfway up the stands, Maud could hear the hungry sucking sounds of the Dementors as they devoured the last scraps of positive emotion from the spectators at ground level, then glided swiftly up to the next section, leaving a crumpled trail of unconscious and weeping witches and wizards in their wake. It was freezing in the stadium now.

The Death Eaters, meanwhile, had fanned out and were throwing curses and hexes into the crowd at random. Nothing fatal, it seemed - after all, they couldn't yet know who would join Voldemort and who would oppose him - but the frantic cries of the spectators below proved that whatever they were doing, it was more than enough.

"We've got to _do_ something," said George desperately. "We can't just stand here."

"There's no way you can get a clear shot in this crowd," said Imogen. "Try to hex those Death Eaters from here, and you'll just end up doing their job for them." She shook her head. "No, the best we can do is keep the Dementors away from this section - but even at that, we're blocked in. We -"

"Look out!" shrieked Angelina's voice from below, a second too late: there was a sudden blaze of light and something smashed into Maud with the force of a lumbering troll, knocking her down. She felt her head strike the edge of the wooden seat, pain arced between her temples -

\- and the world went completely black.

#

"...her?"

"...coming around... look..."

A roaring rush of sound filled Maud's ears, then ebbed away like the tide. She tried to raise her head, only to find it too heavy to lift; she opened her eyes a crack, but the light stabbed at them unbearably, and she had to close them again.

"George?" she mumbled.

From somewhere in the darkness came a short, malicious laugh. "Not _Severus?_ My, how fickle. But at least your taste is improving, Moody."

Maud's dry lips worked. "Where am I?"

"Nowhere that concerns you. You won't be here long, anyway." Slow, measured footsteps as Muriel walked around her: _Click. Click. Click._ "Just long enough to die."

Maud let her breath out silently, and said nothing.

"No questions? I'm disappointed."

"Look, Muriel," came a deep, unfamiliar voice, "I can't hang about all day -"

"I know, I know. Just a minute." Muriel bent and thumbed Maud's eyelids up, smiling as her captive winced. "Yes, that's right. Look at me. Ooh, you _did_ give your head a crack, didn't you? Worked even better than my friend's Stunning Spell."

It was a little easier to see now, and Maud could just make out a large, dark-cloaked shape behind Muriel's shoulder. One of the Death Eaters... no, there was another shape standing further back, in the shadows. Two Death Eaters?

And then, with a sudden hideous realisation, she knew.

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because Muriel laughed. "That's right. Did you wonder why I waited so long? Snape got a Slasher, but that wasn't nearly good enough for you. I had to find just the right opportunity... I wanted this to be special. And maybe, just before the end, you can answer a question for me. Does a Dementor kiss as well as Snape... or better?"

Unobtrusively Maud flexed her right hand, feeling for her wand, and found her sleeve empty. Of course, Muriel had taken it. But Muriel didn't know Maud had been trained by the Department of Secrets...

"No reaction? My, how surprising. Don't you even want to know how I knew?"

"You don't," said Maud flatly. "You don't know anything - you just can't stand to admit that you might have been wrong."

It was a shot in the dark, but it struck home; for a moment Muriel's face darkened, and her mouth went tight with displeasure. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Maud was exhausted, and her grief for Dumbledore, her fear for Severus, lay like a leaden weight on her heart. She didn't care about anything else any more. "You know what? You're right after all. There _was_ something going on between me and Snape. But not... not what you thought."

"Oh, really?" Muriel sounded startled, then pleased. "Do tell."

Little by little, the pain in Maud's head was receding, her vision adjusting to the light. In fact there was very little light to adjust to: they were in some shadowy place with a roof that sloped steeply to the floor on one side. Muffled sounds - shouts, bangs, footsteps - came from above.

Of course, thought Maud. Muriel and her Death Eater friend couldn't take her far, not with the Anti-Disapparation Jinx still on the stadium; so they'd simply whisked her into some disused storage room beneath the stands. Which meant that if she could only keep Muriel talking a few more minutes, George and Imogen might yet find her; that Stunning Spell could not have delayed them long. She took a deep breath and forged ahead:

"Snape and I were working together after classes, to make a potion that would restore my sight. At first, that was all we did. He wanted more, but I..." She bit her lip."Then he made... love potion... and I couldn't stop him..."

Technically, every word Maud had just said was true; but the pauses told a different story, and as usual, Muriel drew her own conclusions. "You mean you were his _slave?"_ She threw back her head and laughed in open delight. "Oh, that's brilliant - no wonder he didn't want anyone to know!" She leaned closer, her malicious smile glittering in the semi-darkness. "But of course... it all makes sense now. Proud Maud Moody, thinks she's so fine, slumming about with that greasy, horrible man? I was sure something was going on between you, but I couldn't figure out why..."

"Well, there's nothing going on now. I haven't seen him in months." There was no need to feign the bitterness in her voice: in this, if nothing else, it would have been a pleasure to have to lie. "I'm staying as far away from him as I can."

"I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you," said Muriel, sitting back on her heels and tapping her wand - no, Maud's - against her palm. "If you ask me, you got what you deserved. But I do feel a little sorry that I sent Snape a Slasher - I ought to have sent him a present instead. Perhaps I will, after all this is over. A lock of your hair, perhaps, for old times' sake."

"Muriel," said the Death Eater, sounding exasperated. "Belt up and get on with it. They're going to break through soon -"

"Go on and leave, if you have to," said Muriel. "I can handle this."

"Not a Dementor, you can't. Do you want this one Kissed or don't you?"

"Oh, very well." Muriel stepped back, pouting a little. "Go on, then."

The Death Eater made a beckoning gesture, and the Dementor glided forward. Its hands were outstretched greedily, and from beneath the shadows of the black hood there came a rattling hiss. As it stooped toward her, its cold breath chilling her skin, Maud's hand closed convulsively on her last chance of survival; she closed her eyes, marshalling her strength, focusing with all her might...

I will shout my love for you from the tallest tower at Hogwarts, if you wish it...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

she shouted, kicking away from the Dementor as a blaze of dazzling silver light burst from the spare wand she'd been hiding in her left sleeve. The Dementor staggered back, flinging up its bony arms in a futile effort to shield itself from the brilliance; then it whirled and fled into the shadows, Maud's Patronus striding purposefully in its wake. Muriel stared open-mouthed, and then -

"Reducto!"

shouted two voices in unison, and the door blasted off its hinges, knocking the startled Death Eater down. Imogen and George stood framed against the light.

Muriel let out a screech and swung up her wand to strike: but Imogen snapped out _"Expelliarmus!"_ and Muriel was knocked off her feet. Two wands went flying through the air: George caught them both, flipped Maud's back to her, and stuck Muriel's in the pocket of his robes. Then he strode over to Muriel, reached down and grabbed her by the wrists. She struggled fiercely a moment, then crumpled, weeping in impotent fury.

Maud's spell had done its work, and the Dementor was nowhere to be seen. Her Patronus returned to her in glowing, magnificent silence, and laid an insubstantial hand on her shoulder. She turned slowly, looked up into its shining face - and then it was gone.

"Wow," said George in flat disbelief. "Maud, has anybody told you how weird that is?"

The metal door, twisted and buckled with the force of Imogen and George's combined spells, clanged loudly against the floor as the Death Eater pushed it off, struggling to rise. "I wouldn't, if I were you," warned Imogen in a soft, dangerous voice, her wand steady on him. "By the authority of the Ministry, you are now in custody for conspiracy to commit murder - and that's just to start with."

George's breath hissed out of him. "Look!"

Maud's head was still pounding, and her vision kept swimming in and out of focus, but she could see well enough to know what he was pointing at. In his struggles, the Death Eater's robes had twisted to one side, and the black-and-white of the Montrose Magpies shirt beneath was clearly visible.

"Of course," breathed Imogen. "That's how they got into the stadium undetected - they had someone on the inside -"

"And then he flew off when the panic started, changed into his Death Eater disguise and came back to join the fun." George sounded disgusted. "I'll never cheer for the Magpies again."

There was a resounding thump from outside, and the walls shook. "That's the Ministry team," said Imogen. "They're in. All right, then, Mr Death Beater -"

George winced.

"- you lead the way."

There was a sudden, white gleam in the shadows beneath the hood, and Maud opened her mouth to cry the alarm - too late. The Death Eater Disapparated with a pop, and Imogen groaned. "I knew I should have done a Restraining Charm. George-"

"It's all right, I've got this one." He straightened up, still holding Muriel by the arms. She made no effort to resist, only stood there with her head bowed and her long dark hair hiding her face, defeated.

Imogen crossed to Maud, took her face between her hands and looked at her long and hard. "Are you all right?" she said.

"A bit of a concussion, I think. A few bruises. That's all."

Imogen lowered her voice. "Phemie will want a debriefing. Can you manage it?"

Maud nodded.

"Good girl. And by the way, have I mentioned - you have nice taste in friends, but I don't think much of your enemies _at all_."

"Isn't that the way it should be?" said Maud with a wan half-smile, and followed her out into the light.

#

The next hour went by in a blur. The Ministry forces - of which there were a surprising number; they seemed to have called in everyone they could get their hands on - spread out across the stadium and began administering healing spells, restorative potions, and brick-sized chunks of chocolate.

Quite a few Aurors had arrived with the team, but as it turned out there was little left for them to do except take Muriel into custody. The Death Eaters had all Disapparated as soon as the web of spells they'd woven around the stadium was breached, and the Dementors had vanished silently into the fog-bound waste of Dartmoor.

As the chaos subsided, Fred and Angelina managed to push their way through the dazed, milling crowd, and joined up with Imogen, George, Maud and a very subdued Annie at the top of the stands. They all sat down just long enough to catch their breath, compare notes, and eat a few bites of chocolate together. No one spoke of Dumbledore: that wound was too raw, and Maud suspected some of them still clung to the hope that Voldemort had been lying.

When it came time to part ways, getting rid of George proved nearly impossible, and in the end Imogen had to take him aside and speak to him. At last, grudgingly, he took his leave and went with Fred and Angelina; but when Maud asked Imogen what she had said to convince him, the other witch only shook her head.

And now, one Apparation, two cups of concussion-healing tea and half a box of Honeydukes chocolates later, Maud and Imogen sat at the conference table in Euphemia Glossop's tiny office, finishing up their debriefing. In accordance with Department procedure, they had first given a bare-bones version of the day's events from the time they arrived at the stadium to the time they left it; then Glossop had gone back over the story with them, asking questions and drawing out the most relevant details. The final topic of conversation was Muriel.

"It wouldn't have been hard for her to find out that George and I were friends," said Maud, squinting a little at Glossop, who sat tall and erect in her high-backed chair, fingers lightly tapping the table as she listened. "Once I'd graduated from Hogwarts, we didn't really make an effort to avoid being seen together any more - in fact we've been meeting quite often. So when Muriel learned from her cousin, the Montrose Beater, that the Death Eaters and Dementors were planning to put in an appearance at the semi-final, she wheedled four tickets out of him and sent them to the Weasley twins anonymously by owl-post, anticipating that Fred would take his girlfriend Angelina and that George would, most likely, ask me."

"Of course, Muriel didn't know anything about _me_," put in Imogen, who was sitting to Glossop's right with her feet up on the table, deftly assembling a long glittering chain of Flourish and Blotts' Firm-Grip, Self-Expanding Paperclips. "And she didn't give George quite enough credit, either. After her cousin lobbed that Stunning Spell at the three of us, I was the first one to wake up and realise that Maud was gone. It didn't take George and me very long to figure out what must have happened, and then he had the bright idea of shoving our way up the stands and talking to Annie." She paused thoughtfully, regarding the chain. "I don't think Muriel anticipated that Annie would have enough wits left at that point to even notice what was going on, let alone tell us - but after a bit of pressure and our solemn promise to protect her from Muriel's wrath if she ever found out, she pointed us in the right direction." She shrugged. "The rest you already know."

Glossop gave Imogen a severe look. "You came dangerously close to betraying yourself this afternoon with your involvement in this matter, Miss Crump. In fact, you may indeed have done so, when you attempted to apprehend that Death Eater in the name of the Ministry. I do not reproach you for coming to Miss Moody's aid in a crisis, but next time, I suggest you make more of an effort to be circumspect. Casting a formidable Patronus in the midst of a large crowd, for instance -"

"I had to," protested Imogen. "George wasn't fast enough, and Maud - well, I didn't quite know why Maud didn't do it at the time, but I understand now. If Muriel had been watching when it happened -"

"Ah." Glossop's mouth curled. "Yes. That could, indeed, have been inconvenient. Are you sure she did not see your Patronus clearly when you were forced to cast it at that Dementor, Miss Moody?"

Maud shook her head. "Not absolutely sure, no. It all happened so quickly. George saw it, though: I know that much."

The first time Maud had successfully cast the Patronus Charm in her sixth year at Durmstrang, she had nearly fainted with surprise. Her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher did not recognise the terrible, angelic figure his pupil had just conjured, and only commented that it was unusual to see a human Patronus. Maud had not fully recognised it either; it had been a long time since she had seen that face, after all. But George had noticed the likeness - rejuvenated and glorified as it was - at once, and very likely Muriel would have, too.

Maud shivered. It was a good thing Muriel was in Department custody at the moment, and that she was not likely to be released before standing trial for attempted murder and conspiring with a Death Eater. She might even end up in Azkaban, where after the latest disastrous break-out a team of Aurors and a menagerie of fearsome magical beasts had taken up a twenty-four-hour guard...

"Yes, and speaking of which," said Imogen, taking her feet off the table and sitting up, "he was right. Your Patronus _is_ weird. If I hadn't already known about you and Snape, I would probably have had an apoplectic fit on the spot."

Maud gave a thin smile. "It's not quite as bizarre as you might think. Severus saved my life when I was just a child; and his face was the last thing I saw with my own eyes for fourteen years. I suppose that somewhere in the back of my mind, he became the personification of deliverance for me."

"Trust me," said Imogen, "it's _still_ weird."

And that was all the light conversation Maud could take. She put both hands flat on the table and looked up at Glossop, no longer troubling to hide her weariness - or her fear. "Please," she said. "I need to know. Has there been any word about - Hogwarts?"

Glossop's fingers closed slowly into a fist. "Some word, yes," she said. "Though not nearly as much as I would like. Our contacts in Hogsmeade report that the Enemy's forces arrived in the area early this afternoon, and that there were some... pyrotechnics... shortly afterward. No one could get close enough to see precisely what was happening at the time, but about an hour ago, we received confirmation from an eyewitness that Albus Dumbledore is, indeed, dead."

Imogen sucked in her breath and dropped her head into her hands. "I didn't want to believe it," she said in a thick voice.

Maud sat very still. Glossop's eyes met hers, and her mouth curled a little, sadly, as she went on: "As far as we know, no one else was harmed. Hogwarts itself still stands, and the Enemy has withdrawn. But as for the details-" she spread her square-boned hands. "We will simply have to wait."

"Thank you," said Maud quietly. She knew what she must do, now. Indeed, she had known it for hours; all she had been waiting for was the assurance that what she planned to do was still possible - and necessary. "May we go now?" she asked Glossop. "Please. It's... been a long day." And was about to get considerably longer...

"You may go," said the older witch. "Miss Crump, however, will remain. We have matters to discuss."

Imogen, who had half-risen from her seat, looked chagrined and sat back down. Maud, feeling all the more grateful for her reprieve, smiled faintly at them both, lifted a hand in farewell, and Disapparated.

#

Maud's first stop was her flat, to wash her face, change her clothing, and make another cup of restorative tea. Her next was the lab at St. Mungo's. And the third, with some trepidation, was her uncle's house.

"I knew you wouldn't approve," she said quietly. "And if you truly don't feel you can help me, I won't blame you. But I couldn't think of a better plan."

"I can," growled Alastor Moody. "Don't go."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "That isn't an option."

He grimaced. "No, I didn't think it would be. But Maudie - are you sure this isn't going to do more harm than good?"

"I'm sure of only one thing," she said. "He needs someone right now. And with Dumbledore dead, there's no one left but me."

Moody sighed, and scratched at his grizzled head. "Yeah, well, I suppose it could be a worse plan. Keep your hood up and your head down, and with your light feet you could probably walk right through Voldemort's army without being noticed - so long as you didn't run into any Dementors. It's a sight better than what I thought you were going to ask me, in any case."

She frowned. "What _did_ you think?"

He gestured to the two flasks of potion she wore tied to the belt at her waist. "I thought that might be Polyjuice you were carrying."

"Poly-" She was speechless. "Uncle, I would _never_ ask that of you. Not after - what Crouch did. And besides, from everything I've heard, cross-gender Polyjuicing isn't just uncomfortable, it's dangerous."

"Ah. You knew about that, did you? Good." He heaved himself out of the chair, stumping across the room to his familiar Auror trunk with its seven locks. "But that wouldn't even be half your problem, if you tried to impersonate me. Even Crouch wobbled about on my wooden leg before he got the hang of it, and the mad-eye was no picnic either. Speaking of which -" and with a muttered curse he popped his artificial eye out and polished it furiously on his robe before shoving it back in again.

"Not to mention," said Maud, determined not to let her nausea show, "that taking them both would leave you at a serious disadvantage, just when a Death Eater raid looks more likely than ever. No, absolutely not." She took a deep breath. "Your spare invisibility cloak will be just fine."

Two keys and two locks later, the trunk yielded a spill of silvery fabric, gleaming elusively in the dim light. Moody picked it up and held it out to her. "Take care of it, Maudie," he said gruffly. "It's not my spare, now: it's the only one I've got."

"I'll guard it with my life."

He gave a grunt of reproof. "Don't be a fool, girl. Guard your life with it, instead; that's what it's for."

"I know," said Maud, with a shaky laugh. "Constant vigilance." She moved into his embrace, held him tightly a moment, then stepped back with the cloak in her hands. "Thank you, Uncle."

He scarcely seemed to hear her: his arms hung loose at his sides and his eyes - ordinary and magical both - were turned toward the floor. "Dumbledore," said Moody, in a voice rough with emotion. "Never thought I'd outlive him. Nor Prospero Peachtree, either."

"Peachtree? Was that the wizard who -"

"Went out with a bang, from what I hear. Yes. Didn't know the man had that much guts in him, but I suppose where Dumbledore was concerned..." His mouth twitched. "Prospero owed Albus his life, in pretty much every sense you can think of."

"He wasn't the only one," said Maud softly. "I miss him too, Uncle. I can't believe he's gone."

Moody gave a loud sniff and blinked twice. Then he set his jaw and said with deliberate briskness, "Well, he is. And the rest of us have to get on with living, so... you'd best go before it gets any later."

Maud drew the invisibility cloak around her shoulders, clasped it at her throat. It was amazingly light, and she felt no different wearing it; but when she looked down at herself, she could see nothing but the faded carpet. For the first time in hours she felt a surge of hope: _This could work._

"And make sure you keep that hood up," said her uncle, matching the action to the words. "Nothing worse than looking at a disembodied head - not to mention it makes a very tempting target. Voldemort might have pulled his forces back from Hogwarts, but there's nothing to say he didn't leave a few soldiers behind. So watch your step, Maudie."

"I will," she said. Stepping carefully toward the door - it was easier if she didn't try to look down at herself - she opened it and walked out to the gate, just past the Anti-Apparation barrier.

"Maudie."

His voice was barely audible. She turned and looked back, to see him standing in the doorway, his big, twisted frame silhouetted against the light. He hesitated, then clumped down the path after her, as though he were merely going to check that the gate was locked before turning in for the evening.

"You never know what might happen," he continued, fumbling with the latch. His face was averted, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. "So what I mean is, I thought I'd better -"

Maud reached out and put her hand on his very gently. "I love you too, Uncle Alastor."

"Yes. Well, then. God speed you, lass." Looking relieved, he turned away.

Silently, her eyes still fixed on her uncle's retreating back, Maud straightened up and drew a deep breath. _Hogwarts,_ she thought. _Severus -_

\- and Disapparated.


	6. Sad Friends

The sky was darkening over Hogsmeade, and the streets lay empty and silent beneath their dusting of snow. Even without an invisibility cloak to protect her, Maud's Apparation in the alley beside the Three Broomsticks would probably have gone unnoticed. Still, she did not take so much as a step before she had put a Concealment Charm on her boot-soles, and tested them carefully to make sure they would leave no footprints.

It was a long, cold, nerve-wracking walk out of the village, past the railway station and around the lake. An icy wind whistled around her, its chill fingers tugging her cloak aside, slipping even between the layers of her robes. The road was stony and uneven, and more than once her feet nearly slipped out from under her, making her grip convulsively at the two small bottles fastened to her belt. Maud was shivering with apprehension as much as cold by the time she reached the gates of Hogwarts - and found them shut.

Not only that, they were locked. The wrought-iron lattice with its elegant tangle of ornamentation might have been a single piece of metal barring her path: there seemed to be no visible latch on the gates, or even a seam between them. And there could be no question of going around, either - the towering stone columns on either side, with their matching statuettes of winged boars, were just as daunting an obstacle.

Maud stepped back, thinking hard. The flasks of Exploding Extract she carried would almost certainly be enough to blow the gates open. But that would be unsubtle, to say the least; and she might yet need those bottles for her own protection. She could, of course, levitate herself, and float over the gates; or make herself insubstantial, and walk through them; or shrink herself, and crawl under them. But could it really be that easy? She might just end up setting off an alarm, or walking into some kind of trap.

On the other hand, her uncle knew as much about Hogwarts as anyone, and he had never said that getting to the castle would be impossible - only that it might be dangerous. Besides, where Hogwarts was concerned, Maud was neither a stranger nor an enemy: she'd been a student here herself only a few months ago, and her intentions were entirely beneficent. Surely that must count for something?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Maud stretched out her hand, and touched the gates.

For one awful moment, nothing happened. Then, softly and silently as an exhaled breath, the gates parted down the middle and swung open. The road lay bare before her, a deep-rutted track glittering with frost. Maud squared her shoulders, pulled the invisibility cloak closer about her, and began trudging up the hill to Hogwarts.

#

By the time she reached the school's front entrance, Maud's teeth were chattering. Her legs trembled with exertion after the steep twenty-minute climb, and her headache had returned in full force. For the first time she found herself thinking, _What am I doing here?_ It was a mad risk she had taken in coming to Hogwarts, and Snape might very well be angry when he saw her - after all, if she were discovered, it could seriously endanger them both.

The school's front doors - two massive slabs of iron-bound oak - stood before her. For a moment she looked up at them wearily, struggling with the temptation to turn back. But then she remembered that Dumbledore was dead, and nothing would ever be the same again; that one harsh and devastating fact had brought her here, and it drove her forward now. She drew a deep breath, tugged one of the doors open a crack, and slipped in.

The castle was cool and quiet, the corridors dimly lit. There appeared to be no one about, which made sense; the evening meal would be over by now, and the students dispatched to their common rooms for the night. Maud made her way soundlessly across the Entrance Hall and down the staircase toward the dungeons. She was halfway along the corridor, one flickering shadow in a host of shadows, when -

"- good thing _someone_ has a sense of perspective around here," came a voice unexpectedly from ahead of her. Maud jumped and flattened herself against the wall just in time to see Draco Malfoy sweep around the corner, with Crabbe and Goyle shambling in his wake.

Draco had grown since she'd last seen him, and the sharp, clean lines of his face were more pronounced; his hair shone silver in the torchlight, and his pale eyes were narrowed, making him seem more like a man than a boy. The sneering tone in his voice, however, had not altered a whit. "So Dumbledore's gone. So what? Good riddance, I say. You won't see _me_ shedding any tears over him. If you ask me, the Dark Lord did us all a favour: it's high time we had a change of leadership in this place."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in unison.

"Of course, McGonagall's just as useless. Did you see her blubbering into her handkerchief when Snape told us what had happened?" His lip curled. "Pathetic. And when the Gryffindors all started whimpering and snivelling along with her... No wonder Snape looked like he wanted to throw up on the lot of them. I know _I _nearly did."

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, turned to face the blank wall. "Hand of Glory," he said in a bored voice, and the entrance to the Slytherin common room yawned open. Stepping through, his cronies following close behind him, he resumed his monologue: "Now _Snape_ would make a decent Headmaster - but then, I've been saying that all along..."

The door shut, cutting off his words and leaving the corridor empty once more. Maud let her breath out, straightened up and continued walking, with Draco's disdainful words still echoing in her mind: _Snape looked like he wanted to throw up..._

When she paused to look into the Potions classroom, the door to Snape's office was ajar, throwing a wan light into the darkness beyond. Quietly she made her way up the aisle between the desks, put her eye to the crack of the door, and looked in.

Severus sat at his desk, leaning back in the chair with one long leg thrown over the other. A quill twirled slowly between his fingers, and a half-finished page lay in front of him, but he paid them no attention. His other hand rested on his knee, loosely cupping some small object, but he was not looking at that, either. He was gazing into the fire.

In the half-light his eyes were dark hollows, and the corners of his mouth pulled downward; every now and then he passed a hand over his forehead as though it pained him, and she saw him swallow convulsively. His hair hung lank about his shoulders, and the unhealthy pallor of his skin was more pronounced than ever. Maud ached to go to him, but she held herself back, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place. She would simply have to wait until he retired to a more private location.

For several minutes Snape sat motionless, staring at the flames. Then he drew a long, deliberate breath, and his fingers tightened around the object he held. His mouth twisted, and he pushed himself out of his chair in one fluid, impatient movement, heading for the door - and Maud.

She barely had time to jump out of the way before he flung the door open and stalked out into the darkness, his black robes whirling around him. Maud waited until he was a good ten feet ahead of her; then she drew the invisibility cloak closer about her and followed, moving as quietly as she could.

His whole body stiff with tension, Snape strode down the hall to another door, which he unlocked with a curtly muttered word and a tap of his wand. It swung open, and he walked through. Maud counted three heartbeats, to give him a chance to get clear of the doorway; then she abandoned stealth for speed, and darted in after him.

The door shut behind them, and the latch clicked home. Maud glanced around at the firelit, sparely furnished room beyond, and recognised it immediately: Snape's bedchamber. She had been here only once before, and that was nearly a year ago, but it did not seem to have changed an iota since.

She had barely enough time to finish the thought before Snape whipped around, eyes blazing, and made a sudden snatch at the air in front of her face. Instinctively she jerked away from him, overbalanced, and nearly fell, her boots scraping against the stone as she fought to regain her footing. Snape's jaw clenched, a vein on his temple throbbing to the surface; he glared at the place where Maud had been standing, and a single word hissed from his throat:

_"Potter."_

Maud caught her breath, and choked. As Snape stalked forward, features contorted with fury, she backed away, scarcely knowing where she was going. Her hip knocked against a small table - it began to topple - she whirled instinctively to catch it - and in that instant Severus seized her.

His hands locked around her wrists, his grip relentless, unbreakable; the face that leaned close to hers was twisted with anger beneath a glimmering sheen of sweat. He spat, "I warned you to _leave me alone_, boy. But you never, _ever_ listen to me - always so damnably sure of yourself - and to come spying on me with that bloody invisibility cloak, tonight, of all nights - "

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle; she tried to free her hands, but he was too strong for her. His dark, unfocused gaze narrowed, and his grip loosened a little, but still he did not let go.

"Not even Black would have had the gall to do what you've just done, Potter," he said in a tight voice. "What - will - it - take -" He shook her for emphasis - "to stop you sticking your nose into my private business? What do I have to do to make you afraid of me?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper: "Because you _should_ be afraid, boy. Especially tonight."

His eyes glittered dangerously as he spoke, cold and unfathomable and black as sin, and looking into them Maud was indeed afraid - but not for herself. Because in their depths she saw the jagged edges of his pain, his misery, and it pierced her to the heart. In that moment she found her voice, gasped out:

_"Severus."_

His jaw went slack with astonishment, and he dropped her wrists. Hastily Maud lifted her hands to the catch at her throat, fumbled it open, and let the invisibility cloak slide to the floor at her feet.

Severus took - or rather staggered - a step back, his face drained of colour. He stared at her for a long moment, mingled shock and anger and fear and yearning naked in his gaze; then he squeezed his eyes shut and his face hardened again. "Get out," he said. "Don't look at me, don't touch me, just go. _Now."_

She had expected to find his emotions raw; but the desperation in his voice was unlike anything she had heard before. Still, now that she was facing him at last, she found a strange calmness come over her. "Not this time," she said quietly. "You need me."

He dropped his hands, clenched them at his sides. "What I _need_," he said with sudden savagery, "is to be _left alone_. You should never have come here."

But he did not look at her as he spoke, and the tremor in his voice belied his words. Maud watched him a moment in silence; then she walked over and picked up the small object that had fallen from his hand when he made his first attempt to catch her.

It was Athena.

Gently she set the little owl on the mantelpiece, then stooped to stir the fire and hook a cauldron over the blaze. While Severus stood rigid and unmoving, staring into the darkness, she began adding ingredients: chamomile, a hint of valerian, powdered moth wings, hops, cobwebs, the tiniest amount of wild lettuce...

She stirred the brew slowly until it began to simmer and give off curls of steam. Then she drew Snape's high-backed armchair closer to the fire, and pulled up another chair beside it. Returning to the cauldron, she filled two cups with the relaxing tea and set them on the mantelpiece to cool a little. Finally she walked back to Snape, who had not moved the whole time, and said, "Come and sit down."

He closed his eyes. "Maud-"

"Don't argue. Just come."

A sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped. Maud went back to the fireplace to get the tea, and when she turned around again Snape was sitting in the armchair, staring bleakly at the flames. She handed him a mug, then sat down beside him and took a sip of her concoction. It was not exactly pleasant, but it was drinkable, and she could feel the tension in her muscles ease a little as its warmth coursed through her.

For some time they sat there, side by side, not speaking or even looking at each other. Then Severus said in a low voice:

"I owe you an apology."

She stirred, and blinked. "It's all right."

"No, it is not. I hurt you."

"Only a little. I'm fine now." She hesitated. "I... gather you had a bit of a problem with Harry today."

His lean hands tightened around the cup he held. "You could say that, yes."

Maud said nothing, waiting him out. When he broke the silence again, his voice was rough: "He holds me responsible for Dumbledore's death. And I have neither the power nor the inclination to persuade him otherwise. If the Dark Lord's most hated enemy is convinced..."

"You think he really believes that?"

He gave a short laugh. "I don't have to _think_ anything. He said it to my face. And why not? I showed no grief when I came back and told the others what I had seen. I was cold, I was pitiless, I snapped at the students who wept and shouted down the ones who raged at me. I even allowed myself to show a flash of exultation in a seemingly unguarded moment." His mouth twisted into a self-loathing sneer. "Every inch the Death Eater - it was perhaps my greatest performance."

Maud looked down at her cup. "I see."

"Mercy, and sympathy, I left to Minerva. She is Head of Hogwarts now." He paused, his face grey and suddenly old, added, "For the time being," and tossed back the last of his tea as though trying to drink himself into oblivion.

"Time being?"

"A short time being, if the Dark Lord has anything to do with it. I am now in the unenviable position of having to simultaneously support Minerva and subtly undermine her authority at every turn, without tipping my hand to either side." He raised his empty cup to her in a cynical mockery of a toast. "At last, a real challenge. Rejoice with me."

"Does she know... what you may have to do?"

He shook his head. "She knows me for a spy in the Dark Lord's camp, but more than that Dumbledore never told her. The plans we made, our hopes and fears for the future of Hogwarts, were known only to him... and me."

"Then..." Maud hesitated. "She could fire you, if she doubted your loyalties."

"She will not. That, too, we anticipated. I have allowed myself to show somewhat more humanity in Professor McGonagall's presence than I ever have to the students; she sees me as strict and at times excessively demanding of my pupils, but she also trusts that Dumbledore was not deceived in hiring me. I am Deputy Headmaster now."

"Draco thinks you should be Headmaster."

"So does his father - which is more to the point." He looked down at his cup. "Lucius Malfoy may have been exposed as a Death Eater, but he still wields considerable influence over the Board of Governors. If Minerva proves too much of an obstacle to the Dark Lord's ambitions for Hogwarts, she will, I have no doubt, find herself shunted aside. But with me here to intercede, that will be the worst that happens to her." He gave a wan flicker of a smile. "And so the chess match continues. Even in death, Dumbledore played like a master."

He still had not told her how Dumbledore died, or why; but Maud knew better than to ask. Instead she rose to her feet, said, "More tea?" and held out her hand for his cup. Silently he gave it to her, and she refilled it along with her own, then returned and sat down again with one leg folded beneath her.

"Muriel Groggins has been taken into custody," she said.

Snape looked surprised. "What for?"

"Conspiracy with a Death Eater and attempted murder of a Ministry of Magic representative." Maud paused, took a sip of her tea, and went on calmly, "She tried to have me Kissed by a Dementor at the League Cup semi-final today."

_"What?"_

Now his attention was entirely on her, and for the moment his own troubles were forgotten. "You were there? But you don't - Quidditch isn't -"

_You're cute when you're incoherent, _teased Imogen's voice in her mind, with disturbing irreverence. Maud quashed the thought, saying simply, "She made sure that I'd be there," and went on to relate the whole story.

When she had finished, Snape was quiet for a moment. At last he said, "I never met Godfrey Bigelow, either as a student or as a Death Eater. And even had I known him, I would not have guessed he was Muriel's cousin." His face hardened. "But I will know him now."

"Wait, I forgot one more thing." Maud swallowed her tea. "Imogen's got a new joke you might appreciate - Why did the Death Eaters strike at the League Cup semi-final?"

"For the sake of the joke, I'll pretend I don't know. Why?"

"Because," said Maud, "Lucius Malfoy had a bet on the final."

Snape winced.

"Sorry."

"No," he said flatly. "It's just that - absurd as it may sound, that answer holds more than a grain of truth." He grimaced. "Do you know what I loathe most about my fellow Death Eaters? It isn't the depth of the evil, it's the incredible pettiness of it. The only one capable of seeing things from a greater perspective is the Dark Lord himself - and he is completely mad."

"Do you think so?"

"If I had any doubt, what I saw today would have settled it. The look on his face when he -" He stopped, drew a sharp breath, and his eyes squeezed shut; for a moment Maud saw something glitter in the darkness of his lashes.

She put her cup down carefully on the floor and reached over to lay a hand on his arm. "It's all right," she said. "You don't have to."

Severus bowed his head. She could feel the tension in him, the muscles pulled tight as wire; he was fighting his grief with every ounce of strength and will he possessed. Two cups of relaxing brew should have taken the edge off the stress he was feeling, but it could not break down his rigid self-control. And yet he needed so very much to let go... Maud moved her hand gently up and down his arm; he gave a little sigh, barely audible, and then she realised what she could do.

"Come," she said, tugging his arm. "Come and sit in this chair, instead."

"Why?"

"You're tense. I'm going to give you a massage." She stood up, turned the chair around so that the back was to the fire. "Here."

Reluctantly, his expression suspicious but his eyes glinting with guarded fascination, he rose, walked over and sat as she instructed him, straddling the chair with his arms folded across the back. Maud plucked a loose thread from her sleeve, transfigured it into a cord, and used it to tie his hair aside, baring his neck to her ministrations; then she flexed her fingers, laid her hands firmly on his shoulders, and set to work.

Ideally he should be lying down, of course; and it would be a good deal easier if he took off his robes. But she had no doubt that he would have refused had she suggested either, so she determined to do the best she could under the circumstances. Her fingers traced circles along the cords of his neck, softly at first, then harder, probing. At first she could feel his resistance, but as she continued to knead, working the muscles, the tension began to melt out of him, and his head slumped forward.

A few minutes of this, and her hands ached from the unaccustomed effort; but when she craned her neck to look at Severus's face, his slack and almost blissful expression rewarded her. She gentled her touch, her palms gliding outward across his shoulders, down his arms, and back up again. "Better?" she said.

He blinked, and opened drowsy eyes to look at her. "What did you put in that tea?" he murmured.

"Just the usual."

"Odd. That doesn't usually work for me."

Maud untied his hair, then passed her wand lightly over it, leaving it clean. "It must be the soothing effect of my presence."

He gave her a weary smile. "My asphodel," he said.

_Asphodel _was the key-word he had given her with which to encode her letters, and which, when he spoke it, would temporarily deactivate the Anagrammatica Charm so he could read them. She stooped and kissed the nape of his neck.

"You're welcome," she said.

Severus rested his chin on his crossed wrists, his gaze abstracted. Then he said, in a low voice devoid of emotion, "There was nothing left."

Maud walked slowly around the chair and knelt on the hearthstones in front of him, so that he had to look into her face, and not at the crackling flames. "Nothing left of what?" she said.

"After the Enemy left Hogwarts, I went out and looked at the place where Dumbledore had been standing when he died." He closed his eyes. "There was a scorched mark on the grass - that was all. Even his rings were gone, and his glasses. If I hadn't seen it myself - if I hadn't been watching when the Dark Lord - _blasted_ him -"

A single tear threaded out from under the corner of one eyelid, sliding down the angle of his cheekbone. Maud reached up and took his face between her hands.

"You never wanted to lose him," she said in a soft voice. "And I know you would have saved him if you could. Don't torture yourself. You have a right to grieve."

"In all my life," he whispered harshly, "only two people have ever loved me. And now one of them is dead."

Maud closed her eyes.

"I thought I was prepared - we had even talked about it, he and I - but deep down I never really believed -" She heard him swallow. "As soon as I learned of the Dark Lord's plan, I went to Dumbledore and told him everything I knew. I warned him - pleaded with him - begged him to let me take Polyjuice and go in his place -"

He broke off, pushing himself away from her, and the chair toppled to the floor with a crack. Maud looked up, startled, just in time to see Snape take two staggering steps across the floor, sway, and crumple to his knees.

She scrambled to her feet and half-threw herself at him, her arms encircling his shoulders, pulling him against her. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his hands gripped her waist fiercely, and as his shoulders heaved she felt his tears trickling over her skin.

"He loved you," she whispered, stroking his hair, rocking with him. "He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to live."

"I have no right to live." The words came thickly, punctuated by shuddering gasps. "I never did. But he wouldn't let me die. And now I have to do what he asked of me - to look after Hogwarts - Minerva - _Harry_ -"

In his wisdom Dumbledore had perceived the one thing that would keep Severus Snape from giving in to suicidal despair: his absolute, unyielding sense of duty. Not even Maud's love, by itself, could have pulled him out of the abyss; it would have been all too easy for Severus to convince himself that her grief at his loss would be temporary, and that in the end she would be happier without him. But now that Dumbledore - with his dying breath, as it were - had placed the future of Hogwarts into Snape's hands, he had no choice but to go on living.

Even in death, Dumbledore played like a master...

And that, thought Maud, was only one aspect of the late Headmaster's plans. What other revelations lay in store?

She held Severus tightly, wordlessly, until his breathing lost its ragged quality and he was quiet again. At last he spoke, his voice hollow against her shoulder: "I never told him how much he meant to me. If there is anything good in me, anything worthy of your love, I owe it to him. Without Dumbledore I would be nothing. Less than nothing. I would have been dead years ago."

"I believe you."

"I never told you - I was loath to admit it even to myself - but part of my reason for detesting Potter was jealousy." He gave a shaky, cynical laugh. "As though Dumbledore's heart were too small to hold more than one person at a time. Didn't I tell you Death Eaters were petty?"

"You're not a Death Eater."

"No, of course not. I just look like one, act like one, talk like one, and have the Dark Mark permanently branded on my arm." His tone was acid, but she knew that his venom was directed at himself, not at her. "Can the Death Eater change his skin, or the Nundu his spots? I see no way out of myself, Maud. Especially now."

"I know who you are," she said softly. "Dumbledore knew, too. He believed in you. He trusted you. And in a way he brought us together, you and me - would he have done that if he didn't believe you had a future? He knew that one day you would prove, not only to my uncle but to the rest of the wizarding world, that you were a better man than they ever dreamed." She kissed his temple, adding in a still lower voice, "And you will."

Slowly Severus lifted his head and sat back to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed and weary, but dry. In a husky voice he said, with deliberate emphasis, "The truth, Maud, all of it..."

She smiled, swallowing back her own tears. "I love you."

He leaned forward so that their foreheads met, and Maud closed her eyes. His hands gathered up the long fall of her hair, letting it slide between his fingers; then he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his mouth to hers.

They kissed gently at first, then with growing passion, and Maud felt her skin shiver, her blood begin to pound. She ought to go, she thought. She had done what she came for, it was late, it wasn't safe to stay any longer -

"Maud," he breathed, his lips drifting down to her throat, his hands splayed against the arch of her spine. "You were right. I do need you tonight, after all..."

_Oh, don't do this to me, _she wailed silently, even as her head tilted back and her breathing quickened, _I don't have enough strength for us both..._

But even as she finished the thought, she found herself pushing away from him, panting a little with effort and thwarted desire. "I'm sorry," she said. "We can't do this. You know we can't."

His eyes opened, transfixing her with the black fire of his gaze. "Can't?" he said, and pulled her back against him in one swift, powerful movement. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Severus -"

"I warned you," he murmured throatily, his mouth against her ear, hands gliding over her shoulders and down her arms, "I told you to go. You wouldn't listen. Don't tell me you had no idea that this might happen. You knew better than that from the moment you first touched me tonight..."

"You don't understand," she said faintly. Then, in a frantic rush - his fingers had found the clasp of her robes, and she seized them before they could wander any further - "We can't, really can't, please stop, this is not right, it's not what either of us wants, not like this, not really -"

Snape exhaled and drew back. "Remind me," he said.

"No doubt. No hesitation. Honestly. Freely. Completely." Her eyes searched his, pleading. "Do you really think that's going to happen tonight?"

His face was unreadable. "Go on."

"And besides -" She gave him a little, nervous smile. "That bed of yours does _not_ look comfortable - and I don't even own a half-share."

For a moment Snape's expression became closed, and she was afraid he would argue with her; but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and she realised that she had won. "Good point." He rubbed his head as though trying to clear it, then added with a touch of irony, "I'm glad one of us has some sense."

She had no idea what to say to that, so she simply held out her hand to him; he took it, and raised it to his lips.

"Until the next time," he said.

"Yes," said Maud with forced calmness, "until then." Wincing at the ache in her limbs she rose and turned away, walking over to pick up the invisibility cloak where it lay in a silver puddle on the floor. "Shall I give your regards to my uncle?"

"He knows you're here?"

"He lent me the cloak." Carefully she draped it around her shoulders, arranging it to make sure it fell straight to the floor on all sides, and clasped it at her throat.

"Ah, yes, of course." His eyes lingered on her face, apparently untroubled by her half-visibility. "And you told him you were returning tonight, no doubt; how very... foresighted of you."

"Are you disappointed in me?" she said, a little wistfully.

"Disappointed?" His brows shot up. "Not the word I would choose, no. _Frustrated_ would be more accurate - but for that I have to accept at least some of the blame. It is, admittedly, humiliating to realise that a mere two cups of relaxant tea and a back-rub could wreak such havoc on my self-control, but so be it." He walked forward and gently raised the hood about her face, as her uncle had done.

"Good night, then," he said. "Allow me to see you - or rather, _not_ see you - to the door."

#

When Maud arrived back at her uncle's, weary, cold, and aching from head to toe, all the lights were out. Woodenly she cast the seventeen temporary counter-charms necessary to get through the house's magical defences, unlocked the front door with a few more whispered words and taps of her wand, and let herself in.

With cautious steps she moved down the hall and into the parlour, pulling off the invisibility cloak and folding it over her arm as she went. Alastor Moody was slumped in his armchair, his good leg stretched toward the dying embers of the fire. An empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky lay beside the chair, and a glass dangled limply from his hand.

She stood motionless a moment, feeling sorrow welling up within her, pushing its way past her lungs and into her throat; not for Severus or even her uncle, but her own grief, too long denied. Slowly she laid the cloak down atop the Auror trunk, blinking back the tears that burned her eyes, telling herself not to be foolish, she had no time for this, there was work to be done and life must go on... and then her legs folded under her and she sank to her knees on the carpet and wept, silently and wretchedly, until she could weep no more.


	7. So Much Refined

Cold, so very cold. She shivered violently, clutching the blankets about her, desperate for a warmth and a comfort that never seemed to come.

_(Maudie! Can you hear me?)_

She was back on the path to Hogwarts, alone in the wintry dark, staring up at the tiny, twinkling lights that seemed impossibly far away. The gates were locked and would not open, no matter how frantically she beat her hands against them.

"S - Severus - have to get to -"

_(How long has she been like this?)_

He was holding her wrists, too hard, he was hurting her, and she tried to speak his name but she couldn't breathe -

_(Hogwarts? In her condition? Was she mad?)_

Too close to the fire now; she could feel the sweat trickling down her face. His hands were pulling at her robes - no, she mustn't let him - not yet -

_(Hold her down!)_

Grief stabbed at her chest, a pain like a double-edged dagger driven between her ribs - her whole body convulsed with coughing sobs -

_(I'm doing all I can for her, but I can make no guarantees.)_

It hurt so much -

_(Don't you dare die on me, Maud Moody!)_

She was so tired -

_(All right, I can take a hint. I promise not to make you watch any more Quidditch. Just - just get better, OK?)_

Her head felt like it was cracking open -

_(Oh, lass.)_

Twisted shapes, lurid colours, lights flashing, sounds hammering at her ears -

_(Increasing the dose could be dangerous, but if you ask me, there's nothing left to lose.)_

Fiery liquid seared her throat, and she sucked in her breath to scream; then she realised that she could breathe, and the cry died on her lips. The pain in her head was easing at last, the whirling carousel of delirium beginning to slow. A hand stroked her hair, gently smoothing it back from her face.

_(Rest now. It's all right. I'm here.)_

She slept.

#

Maud woke, to find herself lying in her old familiar room on the first floor of her uncle's house. There were two heavy quilts on top of her, several pillows behind her, and on the night-stand by her side, a glass and a pitcher of water. Sitting up, her muscles trembling with the effort, she poured herself a drink and gulped it back, relishing the coolness of the water on her parched throat.

"I think I heard something," said a muffled voice from outside, accompanied by the sound of feet hurrying up the stairs. "Just a minute, I'll have a look in -"

Realising that the night-shift she wore was missing several buttons - she must have ripped them off in her delirium - Maud pulled the blankets up around her as the door opened and Imogen came in. Her face lit up at the sight of Maud, and she whirled and called out into the corridor, "She's awake!"

The stairway creaked as Alastor Moody heaved himself up it, breathing stertoriously. He stopped short in the doorway, regarding her with blank astonishment; then he lurched forward, took her face between his hands and gave her a resounding kiss on the forehead. "Maudie," he rumbled as he drew back again. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Three cheers for the Moody constitution," said Imogen. She perched herself on the end of the bed, surveying Maud with a critical eye. "Though I don't mind telling you, I've seen you looking better. You'll have to rest a few days yet, I think."

"What... happened?" said Maud. It was hard to push the words past the tightness in her throat, and her voice sounded rough and foreign to her ears. "All I remember is... falling asleep-" _crying yourself to sleep,_ her conscience chided - "in the parlour..."

"What do you think? You were already exhausted and suffering from concussion, then you went haring up to Hogwarts and back again in the freezing cold. So naturally you came down with a raging case of pneumonia and gave us all the fright of our lives." Imogen looked at her reproachfully. "If I'd had the faintest inkling of where you were headed when you Apparated out on Saturday, I'd have gone after you and dragged you back by the scruff of your neck."

Maud gave her a weary half-smile. "Why do you think I didn't tell you?"

"You've more than that to answer for, girl," growled Moody. "If I'd known you'd bashed your head on a stadium seat and nearly got yourself kissed by a Dementor that afternoon, I'd never have let you go to Hogwarts either."

On Saturday... That afternoon...

Maud frowned. "How long was I ill?"

"Three days," said Imogen.

"Three...?" Maud stared at her. "But it can't have been - it didn't seem that long -" Even as she spoke, however, her stomach complained loudly, and she could feel hunger gnawing at her insides. She hadn't eaten since noon on Saturday; no wonder she felt weak.

"You rest, Maudie," said her uncle, putting a firm hand on her shoulder and making her lie down again. "I'll go and cook you up some breakfast." He stumped toward the door, then turned around, pointing a gnarled finger at Imogen. "And don't let this one talk your ear off, either."

Imogen gave him a cheeky grin. "Oh, go boil an egg," she said.

Moody scowled at her - not quite convincingly - and lumbered out.

"I've got to know your uncle quite well these past couple of days," said Imogen when he had gone. "You know, in a twisted and horrible kind of way, he's sweet. I think I rather fancy him."

Maud choked, and Imogen quickly handed her the glass of water. _"Please_ tell me that was a joke," said Maud, when she could speak.

Imogen winked at her. "Don't worry, I've no ambitions of becoming your aunt. Besides, you've already done the Older Man thing, and I'd hate people to think me unoriginal."

"What about George? Is he out of the running?"

"Oh, my. Well, let me tell you." Imogen folded her legs up under her and sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning forward conspiratorially. "On Sunday night I dragged George off your uncle's sofa and made him come with me to Prospero Peachtree's memorial service. You were still raving and thrashing about, and the Healer we'd called in refused to let either one of us near you, so it seemed like the best thing to do. Anyway, while we were there we saw loads of people from the Quidditch match, including Annie -"

"Was Lucinda with her?"

Imogen looked blank. "Lucinda?"

"Tall girl, a bit horsy-looking, same colouring as me?"

"Not that I recall, no. Though Annie did say something about a friend who'd been in hospital. Perhaps that was who she meant." She paused, then cleared her throat and went on:

"In any case, we met a few of Peachtree's relatives after the service. And wouldn't you know, I actually recognised one of them. Jennet Peachtree works for the Department of Child Welfare in Edinburgh; she was the one who notified the Ministry when the orphans turned up -"

Maud was startled. "You mean they've been found?"

"Shh. No one's to know. But yes - and they're fine. Now can I get on with my story? We'll talk about the orphans later."

"All right," said Maud reluctantly.

"Anyway, Jennet was standing about after the service looking uncomfortable, and nobody was speaking to her. So naturally I came up and said hello and told her how sorry I was about her grandfather and all that, and then I introduced her to George." She took a deep breath. "Well! Wouldn't you know, the two of them took an instant liking to each other and got along famously for the rest of the evening. Which is all very lovely and I don't begrudge it to either one of them, but I can see they're in for trouble if things get any more serious."

"Why?"

"Maud, Maud, Maud." Imogen shook her head. "And you call yourself observant? There were enough clues in that story to tip anyone off. Jennet Peachtree is a Muggle."

"What?"

Imogen relented. "Well, not a Muggle exactly. But she might as well be. Lives like one, dresses like one - which certainly made her stand out at that memorial service, I can tell you - and seems quite content to be considered one. She got a big laugh out of George when she called herself 'the Giant Squib'. It certainly didn't seem to bother _him_ that she can't do magic."

Perhaps some of Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggles had rubbed off on his sons after all, thought Maud. "Well, good for him," she said. Then, a little hesitantly, "You're not disappointed, are you?"

"Me? Heavens, no. He's a lovely boy, and I'm charmed to have made his acquaintance, but I could see in a moment we wouldn't suit." Imogen gave a theatrical sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to go on carrying a torch for your uncle."

"He does have a certain indefinable charisma," agreed Maud gravely.

"Anyway, back to the orphans." Imogen wiggled herself into a more comfortable position and resumed her tale. "Callum Gamble must have known something was afoot, because he'd borrowed a Portkey to get the children to safety if anything happened. And this is where Jennet comes in: she supplied them with the Portkey -"

"Wait. I thought you said she was a Squib. Where did she get an unauthorised Portkey?"

"Oh, it wasn't unauthorised. It was an old one registered to her family, but they hadn't used it for years and most of them had forgotten it even existed. So when Jennet realised Thistledown Lane might well become a Death Eater target, she offered Callum the use of the Portkey and agreed to be in charge of the receiving end.

"When the children arrived, and the word came that the Gambles had been killed, Jennet knew it was imperative to keep the whole thing hushed up so that the Death Eaters didn't come around to finish the job. After all, there was a good chance the children had seen something incriminating. She went to her brother - Rob Peachtree's an Auror - and he passed the information on to Phemie, who promptly packed me off to Edinburgh to investigate."

"So what had the children seen?" asked Maud, taking another sip of water.

"Hardly anything really. Callum was the one who saw the Death Eaters coming: he sent off a signal to Jennet, roused the orphans and shooed them all off to the Portkey. Apparently he tried to make Bridget go too, but she wouldn't."

"Why didn't he just Apparate away with her, then? Once he knew the orphans were safe -"

"Yes, but by then the house was under an Anti-Apparation Jinx and it was too late. Can I finish my story now?" Maud nodded a little sheepishly, and Imogen continued: "In any case, several of the children mentioned that 'Uncle Callum' had been looking worried and upset for a couple of days, and one of them said they'd heard him arguing with someone in his office the night before." She shrugged. "Not that it matters at this point. I took their statements, did Memory Charms all around, and now they're settling into a new home."

Inwardly Maud winced at the reference to Memory Charms, but knew better than to mention it: she and Imogen had argued about the issue before. "And do you think they'll be safe there?"

"I don't see why not... oh, look, here's your breakfast." The door had swung open as Imogen was speaking, and a heavily laden tray came floating in. Apparently Maud's uncle had thought better of carrying it up the stairs while balancing on a wooden leg.

Imogen caught the tray in mid-air and carried it over to the bedside. There was a rack of lightly buttered toast, two soft-boiled eggs, a small jar of honey, and a steaming, fragrant pot of tea. _Bless you, Uncle Alastor,_ thought Maud.

"Now," said Imogen, "where should I put this so you can reach it? You're not going to want it on your lap."

"Why not?"

"Because you've still got that nasty burn on your leg. It might not hurt right now, but I wouldn't go putting any weight on it if I were you."

"Burn?" Maud was surprised. "From what?"

"You tell me. One of those little bottles you were carrying smashed when we were trying to wrestle you off the floor and get you upstairs -"

"It _what?"_

"Smashed," repeated Imogen patiently. "As in, fell onto the floor, and broke. And then you rolled on it."

Maud's mouth went dry. "And... nothing happened?" she said hoarsely.

"Well, aside from your burn and a rather ugly stain on your uncle's parlour rug, no." Imogen frowned. "Why?"

With trembling hands Maud folded the bedcovers back, and looked down at the thick pad of white gauze taped to her thigh. The Healer must have put a Numbing Charm on it, because she really couldn't feel a thing. But if that bottle of Exploding Extract had done what it ought to, she wouldn't even _have_ a leg right now.

"Maud?"

She looked up into Imogen's puzzled eyes. "It's all right," she said. "I... I suppose I must have grabbed the wrong potion by mistake."

But deep down, she knew she hadn't.

#

"Woman, are you _insane?"_

Maud turned, startled, to see George Weasley bearing down upon her, his eyes afire with indignation. It wasn't really a surprise that they would run into each other here in Diagon Alley; it was, after all, the height of the Christmas shopping season. But she'd thought he would be pleased to see her, and he certainly did not look happy right now...

"Five days ago you were thrashing about on death's welcome mat," he said fiercely. "You ought to be in bed."

Maud picked a jar of porcupine quills off the shelf and put it in her shopping basket. "If you only knew," she said, "how much you sound like your mother..."

A stifled snicker came from behind George, and he flushed. "All right, all right," he said. "But can you blame me? I mean, it's not as though you've been showing a lot of common sense lately, and _somebody's_ got to look out for you..."

"Thank you," replied Maud gravely. "I appreciate your concern. However, Healer Hammond said that as long as I took my potion, dressed warmly and got plenty of rest afterward, I could go out today. And I feel much better, really." She leaned to one side, attempting to see past George's broad shoulders to the smaller figure standing just behind him. "Is that who I think it is?"

The diversion was successful: George's reproachful expression vanished, and his mouth curved up in a slight, dreamy smile. "Yeah," he said. He looped an arm behind him and pulled up a young woman, slim and petite, with a heart-shaped face and dark hair falling in a shining curve to her shoulders. She looked tiny beside him, almost childlike, but the brown eyes that met Maud's were alive with intelligence, and there was nothing shy or fragile in the way she stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Hullo," she said. "I'm Jennet Peachtree."

"Maud Moody," said Maud, completing the handshake. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to come to your grandfather's memorial -"

"Well, as I understand it, you didn't make it to Professor Dumbledore's either," said Jennet in her soft, slightly husky voice. "And you must have felt even sorrier about that. So I'm certainly not going to blame you." She smiled, but her eyes had darkened at the mention of her grandfather, and Maud could see that she was still finding it difficult to accept that he was gone.

"I'd like to hear more about your grandfather some time," said Maud gently. "He must have been a remarkable man."

Jennet nodded, and then her eyes filled up with tears and she began fishing hastily about in her pockets. George, with the resigned air of a man who had been through this several times before, produced a handkerchief with a snap of his fingers and handed it to her; she gave a little, shaky laugh, and took it.

"Sorry," she said, behind the handkerchief. "Not your fault. And yes, I'd like very much to talk about him - you'll just have to give me a few more days to get my bearings." She blew her nose, then looked up at George with a shaky grin.

"Maybe by then I'll have learned to carry my own handkerchiefs, too."

"Nah, don't do that," said George. "It makes me feel useful. Strong and manly."

He spoke jauntily, as though it were a joke; but Maud, who still had a black handkerchief in her collection from the first time she had cried in front of Snape, could tell there was a good deal more to it than that. The way he looked down at Jennet, fond and protective and tender - oh, yes, George Weasley was definitely serious about this girl.

"Well," said Maud, "I wish I could chat longer, but I'm going to see Lucinda in a few minutes -"

"Lucinda?" George was surprised. "I thought she was in hospital."

"Not any more. Apparently she's still quite weak, though, and afraid to leave her flat. So I'm going to make her up some restorative potion and have a talk with her." Maud looked down at her basket. "Who knows... maybe I can help. Annie seems to think so, anyway."

"Well, best of luck, then," said George. "We'll see you later."

He squeezed Jennet's shoulders; she leaned against him and smiled. "Yes," she said to Maud, "we'll have to talk more some other time. Glad to have met you-" and they left the shop together.

They made a striking couple, Maud thought, watching them through the window as they headed down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. George with his muscular build and fiery hair, very wizardly in navy-blue robes; and beside him this slight brunette woman wearing Muggle jeans and a jumper the colour of holly berries. She could see people pausing to look at them: some surprised, some perplexed, some even frowning. But neither George nor Jennet paid them any heed, and in another moment they had vanished among the crowd.

Feeling a little wistful, but not quite knowing why, Maud brought her basket up to the counter, paid for her purchases, and Disapparated.

#

"Lucinda, it's Maud. May I come in?"

The door opened a crack and a single eye, watery and red-rimmed, looked out at her. "Annie sent you," said a voice flatly. "Didn't she."

"Yes," admitted Maud. "But she didn't have to try very hard. I wanted to come, ever since I heard you were... unwell. I've just been ill myself, so..."

"I'm not ill. I just - I've had a very bad experience and I want to be left alone. I don't know why Annie can't get that into her head."

"I'm sure she can," said Maud mildly. "She just doesn't think it's a good idea. And I agree with her. Look, I've got some ingredients here for a potion that might help you feel better; I know it always works well for me -"

Lucinda made a disgusted noise. "Potions. I've had potions poured down my throat for weeks. I never want to see another potion again."

"Fine," said Maud, who was beginning to feel tired, and whose patience was ebbing along with her strength. "No potion. But can we at least talk?"

There was an awkward pause. Then Lucinda sighed, and opened the door.

Lucinda's flat was a bedsit, a cramped and cheerless space with only one small window to let in the milky winter light. It did not appear to have been lived in for long: the walls were bare, the furnishings scanty, and several boxes were stacked in one corner. Lucinda made a brief ungracious gesture toward the sofa, then folded herself up into the single armchair with her feet pulled up and her arms around her knees. "So," she said. "I suppose you want to know what happened to me. Or did Annie already tell you?"

"No," said Maud. "For once, she didn't say anything. So I knew it had to be serious."

"It was in the _Daily Prophet_, if you knew where to look. Half a column on page twelve, right between a werewolf sighting in Shropshire and a three-broom collision in Glasgow." Lucinda sounded bitter. "I always hoped I'd see my name in the newspaper one day, but not - like this."

For a moment Maud wondered what she meant; then she remembered that Lucinda had said once, very timidly, that she thought she might make a good reporter. Muriel had laughed scornfully at her, Annie had giggled, and the subject was never raised again. "I'm sorry," said Maud, not knowing what else to say. "I didn't see it."

Lucinda looked down at her feet. Then she said, "So. You've been ill, you said. What happened to you?"

Well, thought Maud, it couldn't hurt to tell her: if she put a little confidence in Lucinda, perhaps she might get some back in return. Drawing a deep breath, she told her former dorm-mate as much as she dared about the events of the previous Saturday, including Muriel's attempt to kill her. "And then I kept pushing myself for the rest of the day, instead of getting the rest I should have," she said. "Plus I spent far too much time outside in the cold, and, well... I suppose I just overdid it."

Lucinda's eyes were huge. "Annie told me Muriel had tried something on you. But - a Dementor? That's - horrible -" She swallowed convulsively. "You might have been killed. Worse than killed."

Maud nodded.

"But - weren't you terrified?" Lucinda persisted. All pretence of indifference had gone now, and there was a strange, desperate light in her eyes. "Didn't you think, this is it, I'm going to die, and I haven't even lived yet?"

"Was that how you felt?" asked Maud softly.

Lucinda bit her lip. Then she said in a small voice, "I thought he loved me," and burst into tears.

Instinctively Maud rose and went to her, sitting down on the arm of the chair and putting a comforting hand on the other girl's shoulder as she wept. It was a long time before Lucinda's sobs subsided, but nearly as soon as she could speak, the story came tumbling out.

His name was Thierry, and he lived in Belgium. Lucinda had met him through the Personals section of _Witch Weekly_ when she was sixteen, and they had begun a tentative correspondence that soon became eager and intense. He praised her beauty in the photographs she sent, and owled her back the most wonderful sketches of himself; when she shyly allowed him to see an article she had written for her local newspaper, he shared with her some deeply sentimental poems he claimed to have shown to no one else. Within a few months Lucinda was convinced that she was in love.

Thierry urged her to visit him at his home in Liege, but to Lucinda's frustration her parents refused to let her go: she was too young, it was too far for her to go alone, and they had no intention of taking her there. By the following summer she had qualified for her Apparation licence, and found someone who could show her how to get to Brussels at least; but again her parents opposed the journey, telling her she didn't know Thierry well enough, it wasn't safe, and if he wanted to meet her so much, why wouldn't he come to see her instead?

They had a point, but Lucinda was too deeply involved with Thierry - in her own mind, at least - to listen. After her graduation from Hogwarts, her arguments with her parents turned from tearful protestations to angry demands. They simply _had_ to let her go, she told them. Not while you live in this house, they said. The conflict had raged on for weeks, tearing apart their once-happy family, until finally Lucinda could bear it no more and moved out.

That had been a mere six weeks ago. She regretted the change almost at once, not least because she had only been able to find part-time work and could barely afford the rent; but she told herself that being able to meet Thierry face to face at last would make up for it. She wrote to him to share the news that she was finally free; he responded with alacrity, and they arranged a romantic evening rendezvous at a café in downtown Liege. In an ecstasy of anticipation Lucinda bought herself a new robe she could scarcely afford, and went to meet the man of her dreams.

"I should have known something was wrong," she said in a husky, tear-choked whisper. "I recognised him at once - his sketch hadn't lied - but he looked so pale, I thought he must be ill. And he didn't eat or drink at all. When I asked him, he just laughed and said that he was dining on love - and I believed him. Stupid, I know, but, I was just so excited - I could hardly eat anything either.

"After dinner he invited me to take a walk with him, so he could show me more of the city - he took my arm and led me through the streets, pointing out this and that - his voice was so thrilling and the way he looked at me made me feel so - special -"

She broke off, her shoulders shaking, and it was some minutes before she could speak again. The rest of the story emerged in broken, barely audible fragments: a sudden turn into a darkened alley; Lucinda's realisation that they were completely alone; his arms wrapping around her with a terrifying, exhilarating strength; and then the fierce pain in her neck, as what she had thought would be her first kiss from a handsome young wizard turned into a savage attack by an inhuman predator...

"I screamed," she said hoarsely. "And he - _laughed_ at me - and I knew then that I was going to die -"

Fortunately for Lucinda, a Muggle workman making his way home from the local tavern heard her scream and rushed to her aid. Thierry broke off his attack and fled, leaving Lucinda unconscious and barely alive. She spent the next four weeks in hospital, subjected first to the vagaries of Muggle medicine and then (once her parents located her and negotiated a transfer to St. Mungo's) to a parade of blood-cleansing and regenerative potions. In the end the treatment was declared a success, but Lucinda's health, her nerve and her dreams had been shattered, and she knew she would never be the same person again.

The worst pain of all had been the discovery that she was only one of scores of naïve young witches with whom "Thierry" had corresponded, some of whom he had already lured to their deaths. "I should have known," she murmured, her voice dull with weariness and despair. "The signs were all there - the sketch in place of the photograph, the way he looked when we met at the café - but I never paid much attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I never imagined I could be stupid enough to be taken in by a - a - _vampire_ -" And with that she began weeping again, her shoulders hunched and her face pressed against her knees.

Maud stroked her old dorm-mate's hair in wordless sympathy, swallowing back the lump in her throat. No wonder Lucinda had not wanted to see anyone, or to talk about her experience; the humiliation and the shame of what she had experienced were an agony in themselves. At last she said, "What did your parents say about it?"

"They - they want me back home," said Lucinda thickly, scrubbing at her wet eyes with the back of her hand. "And I know they mean it, but -"

"Do you really think they'll be happier knowing you're here, alone?" Maud put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Punishing yourself isn't going to make it easier for them any more than it is for you."

"I know. But I - there's more than that." Lucinda drew a shuddering breath. "The Muggle who saved my life - he was good to me. Kind. He came and visited me in the hospital every day until I was transferred - he even brought flowers. His English wasn't very good, and my French was worse, but we did manage to talk, and - he was a friend to me. And the Muggle doctors and nurses - they were good to me, too."

"I'm not... sure I understand," said Maud.

Lucinda closed her eyes. "My parents are both from very old pure-blood families," she said in a hollow voice. "And they think... please don't tell anyone I said this, but... they think You-Know-Who is right."

Now it all made sense. "But now you know Muggles aren't the enemy after all... and what it really means for -" Maud almost said _Voldemort, _but caught herself just in time; Lucinda would probably have hysterics if she did - "You-Know-Who to have vampires in his army..."

"I hate him," said Lucinda with sudden passion. "If he's working with _their_ kind then I don't care what anybody says, he's evil and he's wrong and I don't want anything to do with him. And I can't go home and listen to my parents talk about Muggles any more. I just know I couldn't stand it."

Maud was silent a moment, thinking. Then she said at last, very slowly, "There... might be another option."

Lucinda blinked up at her. "Option?"

_Don't do this, _the cautious side of Maud's mind warned. _You can't afford to lose your privacy... you don't know you can really trust her... what if she finds out..._

"What about Annie?" Maud heard herself say. "Would she be willing to share a flat with you?"

The other witch's shoulders slumped. "She can't. She's leaving for America in three weeks - going to stay with her aunt for a year and go to a wizarding college. Or that's what she says, anyway, but I think really she's just frightened of Muriel. She's convinced she's going to get out of gaol somehow and come after her."

She wasn't the only one, thought Maud resignedly. "Well, then," she said, "there's only one solution. You'll just have to come and live with me."

Lucinda's head jerked up. "You - do you mean it? I - you can't really - I was never much of a friend to you when we were at Hogwarts and -"

_You'll regret this, _Maud's mind sang out, but she ignored it. "Yes," she said firmly, "I really mean it. There's plenty of room in my flat; it's in a wizarding boarding house in Oxford. We could share the rent, and I'm sure it would be less than what you're paying here. You don't have to decide right away, of course -"

"Oh, no," breathed Lucinda. "I mean, I know I don't, but I have. I'd like to." Her face lifted, pale and pathetically eager. "Please."

Maud took a deep breath. "Well, then," she said, glancing at the pile of boxes in the corner. "Let's get Apparating."

"What do you mean, _didn't work?"_

Up to this moment Tony, preoccupied with making notes on the lab's latest round of antidote tests, had listened to Maud's story with only half an ear; now, however, she had his full attention. "You mean nothing happened at all?" he asked incredulously. "Not even a pop, a tiny spurt of flame? Nothing?"

"So I'm told," said Maud. "And since I and my friends and relatives still seem to have all our limbs attached, I'm inclined to believe it. I thought you would want to know."

Tony frowned, his eyes narrowing. "And you took the samples from the previous week's batch?"

"Yes."

"You're quite sure you didn't grab the wrong jars?"

"Yes."

"Because this is serious stuff we're talking about, love. That Exploding Extract has to work - _has_ to, you hear me? It could be life or death to an Auror in trouble, and with You-Know-Who and his jolly little band on the loose, we just can't afford mistakes."

Maud nodded. "I know. That was why I made absolutely sure. I even tested the remaining jar of extract before I came to you. The ingredients seemed correct, but it was inert: something in the brewing process, maybe." She couldn't be sure, because the Exploding Extract was Tony's own special recipe, and only he and Sarah knew exactly how it should be made. But the theory made sense, at least. "Unless one or more of the ingredients was no good to start with."

"Peg," muttered Tony fiercely. "That idiotic hag. Some days I could swear she's a Death Eater, but not even You-Know-Who would want someone that stupid."

Maud was silent, waiting him out. Tony could be volatile; it was best not to interrupt his thoughts at a time like this. He was, after all, personally responsible for everything that passed through the lab, whether he'd brewed it himself or not; and Maud's discovery, however inadvertent, was sure to be a blow to his professional pride.

"Right," he said at last, with forced briskness. "I appreciate you telling me about this. Obviously it's my mistake: I should have tested the batch more carefully before we bottled it. I'll have that order recalled, and from now on we're going to run quality tests on everything we do before it leaves the lab."

Maud winced.

"I know, I know," said Tony, holding up a hand to forestall her objections. "More work for everyone. But it's the only way to be sure. Right, then, love, away you go. Thanks for the report, good to have you back with us again, and, er... would you mind telling Sarah I'd like a word, when you see her? There's a girl."

As Maud left her supervisor's office she wondered, not for the first time, how either Peg McGillicuddy or Sarah Proctor managed to keep their jobs. As far as she understood it, Peg's personal loathing for Tony meant that she never missed an opportunity to send him sub-standard ingredients for his potions; a habit not merely petty and vindictive but, in their case, actually dangerous. Of course, Peg didn't know that the lab at St. Mungo's was an adjunct of the Ministry, and not merely attached to the hospital. But even so, surely any sensible human being would know that sending the lab low-quality supplies would affect more people than Tony?

And as for Sarah... there she was, setting up her cauldron and ingredients in the corner, looking as wan and dishevelled as ever. "Tony wants to see you," said Maud. The other witch's head came up, her vague eyes startled; then she gave a jerk of a nod, and walked into the office Maud had just left.

There was a pause, after which the door shut very gently, and Maud busied herself at her own workbench while the muffled sounds of Tony and Sarah's voices rose and fell. At last the door opened again and Sarah came out, her mouth quivering and her eyes very red. She walked stiffly back to her workbench and began throwing ingredients into her cauldron seemingly at random, while Tony stood in the doorway of his office and watched her with a look of faint regret. At last, feeling Maud's eyes on him, he turned and gave her a tight smile, as if to say, _What can you do?_ Then he closed his door again.

So it had been Sarah's fault after all, thought Maud, and was not surprised. It was nice of Tony to try and cover for her, but she had to wonder why he kept doing it. After all, she had caught enough hints by now to guess that when the house at Thistledown Lane was attacked, it was Sarah's mistake that had kept Tony working all night at the lab, and prevented him hearing the news about Callum and Bridget until it was far too late. Yet he had never blamed her for that, or brought the incident up again, at least not in Maud's hearing.

Was Tony in love with Sarah, to protect her this way? It seemed unlikely, although from Sarah's behaviour toward Tony, Maud had little doubt that she was in love with him. Perhaps he knew that, and felt sorry for her, and was trying to be kind without encouraging her too much.

Well, in any case, it was none of Maud's business. She set to work in silence, while Sarah blindly stirred her cauldron in one corner and Tony's door remained shut in the other. Perhaps tomorrow things would be better between them, perhaps not. But in any case, there would be no more faulty batches of Exploding Extract going back to the Ministry; so Maud's conscience, at least, was satisfied.

#

When Maud got back home, it was six o'clock; her head ached, her feet ached, and she was exhausted. With clumsy hands she unlocked the door-spell and let herself in, to find a delicious savoury smell filling the flat and Lucinda, resplendent in a white apron, setting two places at the table.

"You cook," said Maud, dazed with the wonder of it. "You _really_ cook."

"Why, don't you?" asked Lucinda curiously. She flicked her wand toward the kitchen, and a dish of stew came floating out, followed by a plate of hot biscuits. "You were always so good at potions - I thought you must be brilliant at it."

Maud shook her head. "Trust me, it's not the same thing. I'm all right when I'm really thinking about it, but on a bad day I can make tinned beans taste undercooked." She took off her cloak, hung it up on the stand. "Have I told you I'm not a bit sorry I invited you here?"

Lucinda smiled. Already she had begun to seem like a different person; the lines of strain around her mouth and the puckered scar on her neck still bore mute witness to her recent ordeal, but her eyes were no longer hopeless, and she spoke with renewed confidence. "Did you see the flowers?" she said.

"Flowers?" Maud turned around, puzzled. "Where?"

"Over there, in the pot on the tea-table. I didn't know they were flowers at first, but when I was trying to decide whether I ought to use candles -"

Lucinda waved her wand, and the flat went dark. For a few seconds nothing happened; then a faint, silvery radiance appeared from the direction of the tea-table, and an array of shining, snowy petals blossomed starlike in the darkness. Maud caught her breath.

"Night-lilies. Who sent them?"

"I don't know. The card was addressed to you, so I didn't open it."

Absently Maud turned the lights back on and crossed to the tea-table. Nestled among the cluster of glossy leaves in the pot was a small white card - the only whiteness visible now, since the flowers had instantly curled back into hiding. She broke the seal and opened it.

It began, _With thanks for your patronage..._ and continued through several more lines of bland prose before ending with _Messrs. Glossop & Soames, Ltd._ It was the latter that finally penetrated Maud's weary brain; she shook her head at her own stupidity, tapped her wand lightly against the card and whispered,

"Wormwood."

Swiftly the letters rearranged themselves, and she read:

_I only learned today that you had been ill. Forgive me, for this and for everything. Who am I to possess you, to own even one iota of your undiluted honesty, your thrice tested and proven will of iron? You are my heart and my conscience. As you have illumined my darkness, may this gift illumine yours._

_Until then, and may it be soon,_   
_S._

Maud set the card down, and the letters scrambled back into their dull officious pattern again. She touched the plant lightly, her fingers caressing the leaves, gently baring the petals furled beneath. _Until then..._

"So?" called Lucinda from the kitchen. "Who was it from?"

"What?" said Maud, still looking at the plant. "Oh. No one you would recognise."

And it was true, she thought to herself. _Because no one really knows you, Severus._ _No one but you... and me._


	8. Trepidation of the Spheres

PART TWO: Fifteen Months Later

_The wind is stronger now, churning the distant waves into a froth. Funereal clouds shroud the sky, and rain spatters like cold tears upon her cheek. Lightning flashes over the water in a sizzling arc, followed by the deep rumble of thunder. Still she remains motionless, lost in her memories..._

Chapter Eight: Trepidation of the Spheres

"Right," said Tony, "drop whatever you're doing and pay attention. We've got an emergency."

Maud looked up from her cauldron. "Not _another_ one," she said.

Over the past few months the lab at St. Mungo's had become increasingly busy, as the war against Voldemort and his servants escalated. The hospital was full of wizards and witches suffering magical injuries which only the most sophisticated potions could treat. And that was only half of the team's workload, thanks to the ever-growing number of special commissions for the Ministry. For weeks now the three of them had been working late every night and even some weekends, trying to keep up with the demand for their services.

As Maud and Sarah's spirits and energies flagged, Tony had cheered and encouraged and badgered them on, all the while working the most punishing hours and taking the most dangerous assignments himself. Maud could not remember the last time Tony had left the lab before she did, and his arms were shiny-speckled with burns from brewing volatile potions. Indeed, he drove himself so ruthlessly that she wondered if his brother's death had made him determined to win this war no matter what the cost...

"'Fraid so, love," said Tony. "Word's come in from Espionage that You-Know-Who's planning something big this weekend. We're not sure where, just yet, but the Healers want a full stock of field remedies, and Magical Law Enforcement's calling for lots of lovely things that go boom. So, away we go. You two -" he pointed to Maud and Sarah - "make nice. I'll make nasty."

Sarah's head came up. "Why?" she asked flatly. "Why always you?"

Tony didn't even pause to ask what she meant. "Because I'm the expert, love. I know you've the brains, but you haven't the nerve. And at a time like this, we can't afford mistakes."

It was an old argument. For nearly a year now Sarah had been pushing, first timidly and then with growing persistence, for the chance to prove herself again. And every time Tony refused her, she became more openly upset; in fact, right now, she looked almost angry.

"I know what I'm doing," she said, her voice quavering a little. "I know more than you think. A _lot_ more."

"We haven't time, love," said Tony mildly. "We'll argue about this later."

For a moment Sarah bit her lip, and Maud thought she would concede defeat; but then her chin came up, and she said, "No. We'll talk about it _now_."

Tony looked at her sidelong a moment; then he blew out his breath in a sigh and said, "Oh, all right. But let's not make a grand scene of it, shall we? And there's no sense tying up all three of us." He jerked his head toward Maud. "Go on, then. We'll be back in a jiff."

He crooked a finger at Sarah, beckoning her after him, and strode out the door, not looking back. Sarah hesitated, licked her lips nervously, then slid out from behind her workbench and followed. The door shut behind them, and Maud was alone.

She had started up three cauldrons and was adding the base ingredients for a Clotting Concoction to the first when the door opened again and Sarah came back in. Her face was ashen, her eyes red and puffy-looking. She said nothing, nor did she look at Maud; she kept her head down and moved woodenly to her desk, where she stooped to retrieve something from a drawer.

Maud was just about to ask whether she was all right, but then Tony walked into the room, his face uncommonly serious. He looked at Sarah, rummaging around in her workbench with hunched shoulders and drooping head, and his eyes softened; he took a few steps forward and said in a low voice, "Don't take it so hard, love -"

Sarah straightened up. "I'll kill you," she said, in a voice that was all the more chilling for its utter lack of emotion. Then she lunged forward, a knife glittering in her hand.

Maud drew her wand and levelled it, but not quite swiftly enough. Sarah's knife came flashing down as Tony twisted aside, and he gave a shout of pain. He clapped a hand to his shoulder; it came away dark with blood.

"Expelliarmus!"

Maud shouted, but there was no need. Sarah had already dropped the knife and clapped her hands to her mouth.

"I-" she stammered. "I didn't-"

Tony looked up at her, his eyes stricken. "I thought we were friends," he said softly.

Sarah drew in her breath with a sound like a sob. "Friends," she gasped. "How - how _could_ you -" and then she whirled, snatched her cloak off the stand, and Disapparated without another word, leaving Tony and Maud staring at the place where she had been.

For a moment there was silence in the lab, and Maud could hear the blood thudding through her ears; then Tony grimaced and said, "Well. That could have turned out better."

"You're hurt," said Maud a little wildly, putting her wand back in her sleeve and hurrying over to him. "How deep is it?"

He gave her a brave, lopsided smile. "Not so bad. Just a scratch - stings like fury, but it'll be fine in a mo." He paused, then added, "She... didn't mean it, you know. She just wasn't thinking."

Maud shook her head. "You know better than that, Tony."

The seed of doubt had been planted in Maud's mind over a year ago, when the Exploding Extract she had borrowed from the lab had failed to perform properly. Since then, several more suspicious incidents had occurred. Until now, there had been no way to confirm Maud's fears that their group contained not merely a clumsy or careless member, but a dangerous Death Eater mole; still, all this time she had been watching the growing tension between Tony and Sarah, as well as doing some investigations of her own. A few discreet inquiries, and a look into Glossop's files, had done much to confirm that her worries were not unfounded; now, with Sarah's sudden and uncharacteristic act of violence, the suspicion had blossomed into grim certainty.

"No idea what you mean," said Tony, but his eyes flicked away from her as she spoke.

"You've known about this for a long time," Maud said quietly. "Too many Ministry people have died or been injured because of faulty potions from this lab - even if no one else has recognised it yet. Did you really think you could control Sarah, keep her from being a danger, just because she loved you?"

Tony's shoulders slumped. "You don't know... the things she's been through..."

Oh, I know all right,

Maud thought grimly. Aloud she said, "I know. You felt sorry for her. So did I. But it's over now. You know she can't come back to the lab after this. Aren't you going to lay charges against her?"

"No," he said sharply. "This stays between us. She can't do any more harm now; she never was good at anything but potions. Let her go."

Maud stared at him. "Tony, do you realise what you're saying?"

He grimaced. "I know it sounds mad. It's just - I don't think she ever wanted things to turn out this way. She just got in over her head, and couldn't see any way out."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course I do. If I didn't, I'd have turned her in long ago. Promise me, love -" His eyes were suddenly earnest, pleading with her - "don't tell anyone about this. Let's just keep it between us."

Part of her wanted to shout at him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him, anything to snap him out of this insanity; but she knew already that it was no use. Once Tony made up his mind, there was no arguing with him. She looked down at the floor and sighed, but made no further protest.

"There's a girl." Tony put his hand to the cut on his shoulder, wincing. "I'd best go look after this. Just you keep working, while I'm gone - we can't afford to lose any more time now." He turned to leave.

"There's just one thing I want to know," said Maud.

He looked back at her, and now she could see the lines of tension in his face. "What, then?"

"If you loved Sarah, why didn't you tell her?"

His strained look eased a little, as though he were relieved that she had guessed without having to be told. "That's between Sarah and me, now, isn't it? But trust me, love, I had my reasons. Some things... just aren't meant to be."

Maud made no reply. Quietly she walked back to the cauldron of half-finished Clotting Concoction, and began to add the remaining ingredients to the simmering liquid within. She could feel Tony watching her, but she did not return his gaze, and in another moment the sound of retreating footsteps and a final-sounding click told her that he had left the room and shut the door behind him.

It was then, and only then, that she let out the breath she'd been holding, and the pounding of her heart began to slow. _Sarah,_ she thought, sickened by the memory of the other woman's white and tear-stained face, the dead, hollow look in her eyes as she raised the knife. They had worked together for nearly two years. _Oh, Sarah, where are you now?_

#

Two days later, in a haze of exhaustion after a long and nerve-wracking week at the lab, Maud stopped by Euphemia Glossop's office on her way home. It was past eight o'clock, so she did not expect to find anyone there; it came as a surprise, then, when she Apparated into a lighted office and saw Glossop still sitting at her desk.

"Good evening, Miss Moody," she said, looking up at her with arched brows.

Maud blinked, and tried without much success to stifle her yawn. "I'm sorry, I just came to check my file... am I intruding?"

"Not at all." The older witch rose from her desk and walked toward her, looking down at her with a slight frown. "You do not look well," she said. "Is something the matter?"

Maud made a wan attempt at a smile. "Nothing you don't know about," she said. "It's been... a difficult week at the lab. Tony's being his usual charming self, but..."

"I quite understand," said Glossop. "I apologise for leaving you in such a difficult position - but I must be candid and warn you that you may have to make do a little while yet. The Department has no one with the necessary expertise to fill the vacancy in your group, and the Enemy's most recent surge of activity makes it difficult to find time to screen potential new recruits. But that screening must be done - we cannot afford to put _another_ Death Eater in your team."

True to her implicit word, Maud had not told Glossop what had happened on the day Sarah left the lab. What Tony did not realise was that she hadn't needed to. Glossop had been aware of Maud's suspicions, and her reasons for them, for several weeks now; since then, the lab and its members had been under near-constant magical surveillance.

"But what if," said Maud slowly, "you recruited someone who's already been screened, or at least could be vouched for? Because I've been thinking of someone, or rather two people, who might be nearly ideal..."

"George Weasley and his twin, I presume?"

Maud was startled. "How did you know?"

"Imogen made the suggestion to me almost as soon as we learned of Sarah's departure. I will admit that I had been considering it, but did not want to mention it to you prematurely."

_You wanted it to be a surprise, you mean, _thought Maud, with a rush of relief. Not until then had she realised how much of a toll the last few weeks had taken on her; the thought of working in a fully staffed lab, with people she could trust, was so overwhelmingly welcome that she almost wanted to cry. "Are you - do you plan to contact them, then?" _Please,_ she added silently. _Please, please, say yes..._

"No," said Glossop, and then, as Maud's face fell, "We have already done so. I understand they have a successful business which they are reluctant to leave unattended, but the suggestion was made that they might assist on a temporary basis, and they appear to be considering it."

"Did you tell them," said Maud, who was feeling a little light-headed, "that they'd be able to make lots of lovely things that go boom?"

Glossop gave her a penetrating look over her pince-nez. "Not precisely, no. Miss Moody, may I suggest that you collect your letter and go home before you collapse?"

_"Is _there a letter?" Her heart leapt wildly. She had been nearly convinced the folder would be empty; after a miserable week like this, a letter from Snape seemed almost too much to hope for. She hurried to the familiar cabinet and opened the top drawer, her fingers instinctively finding the file and pulling out the single sheet it contained.

_In response to your inquiry of the 25th, we regret that we have yet to receive payment, _it began. Maud clutched it against her chest and closed her eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude. During the first year of their separation she and Snape had exchanged letters regularly, and even met a few times, albeit in public settings that made it impossible even to speak freely. But when Voldemort had made his latest, barely-thwarted attempt on Harry Potter's life several months ago, Professor McGonagall had been seriously injured, and Snape - as both he and Dumbledore had anticipated - had been appointed acting Headmaster in her place. Since then Snape's letters had been coming farther and farther apart, and she had seen him not at all.

"Thank you," said Maud, folding the letter carefully into the pocket of her robes and turning to Glossop. "If we didn't have this..."

"I consider the use of my filing cabinet a small price to pay," said Glossop, "for the continuing health and welfare of two highly valuable operatives. Severus and I have been friends after a fashion for some years, but I do not flatter myself that I am capable of inspiring and motivating him as you do. And I am also aware that you yourself have made considerable sacrifices for the sake of the Department, which only Severus can hope to recompense. No, it is I, Maud, who should be thanking you."

If Maud had been Imogen, she would have flung her arms around Glossop and chirped, _Oh, Phemie, I never knew you cared._ However, although that was a scene that Maud would have given fifty Galleons to see, she would never dream of enacting it herself. She bowed her head, in half-embarrassed acknowledgement; then she gave Glossop a wavering smile, and Disapparated.

#

When she materialised in her flat, the main room was disconcertingly dark; only the faint luminescence of the pot of night-lilies, sitting by the curtained window, confirmed that she had even arrived in the right place. For a moment she looked about in confusion; then several voices at once chorused "Lumos!" and the room leaped into light.

She barely had time to recognise the smiling faces around her before an enormous, gaudily sparkling hat unfurled from the tip of Imogen's wand and clapped itself onto her head. A pile of wrapped gifts materialised atop the tea-table. The sofa cushions flipped aside ("Hullo, there's my hairbrush," said Lucinda in surprise) and a dazzling array of tropical birds erupted from beneath them, shrilling in three-part harmony a song that sounded remarkably like "Happy Birthday". It was then that Maud said, "Oh no," in a faint voice, and George Weasley had to catch her as her knees wobbled.

"None of that," he said, steering her firmly over to the armchair, "we've been sitting about for hours waiting for you to get home, and we're not going to be done out of our party now. Lucinda's cooked up enough hors d'oeuvres to feed three starving trolls, and Jennet's gateau is a thing of beauty, let me tell you. Besides, you only turn twenty-one once."

After the strain of the past week, celebrating her birthday - or even remembering it - had been the very last thing on Maud's mind. And since her twentieth birthday had come and gone in relative peace and quiet, she had never imagined her friends would conspire to have a party for her now.

"I... don't know what to say," she murmured, which was true as far as it went. What _could_ she say, after all? They meant to be kind, and they had gone to considerable effort to arrange this celebration. There was nothing to be gained by telling them that all she really wanted was to curl up in bed with Snape's letter and go to sleep as soon as her troubled thoughts might allow.

"Then don't," said Imogen promptly. "No speeches required. In fact, if you tried to give one we'd have to stuff you in a bag and sit on you. Lucinda, trot out those canapés, won't you? I've been eyeing those smoked salmon and dill things for two hours now, and I swear if I don't have one this very minute, I'll go mad."

"Go?" said George, who had perched himself on the arm of the sofa, with a parrot on each shoulder and an exotic finch on the top of his head. "You mean we'd notice a difference?"

Jennet made a _tsk_ing sound and poked George in the ribs. "Rude thing. Can't I take you anywhere?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her and leaned down for a kiss; she raised her face to him invitingly, then plucked the smaller parrot off his shoulder and kissed it instead. No sooner had her lips touched it, however, than it burst like a tiny bubble, and she jumped back with a shocked "Oh!"

"Charm wore off," said George with an insouciant shrug. "You didn't think I'd bring a lot of _real_ birds in here, did you? This carpet's grotty enough as it is."

"That's not true!" said Lucinda indignantly, emerging from the kitchen with a loaded tray in hand. "I did a Dusting Charm on it yesterday."

The worn and faded Persian carpet had been a source of contention ever since the day Lucinda had brought it home in triumph from a second-hand shop in the Kentish Town Road. No doubt it had been magnificent once, but now it was faded, slightly singed, and sported holes not even the best Darning Spells could conceal. Still, Lucinda loved it, and Maud had never had the heart to tell her how awful it was.

George, however, had no such scruples. "You did not," he said promptly. "If you had, there wouldn't be anything left."

Lucinda heroically ignored him. "Here," she said, proffering the tray to Maud. "Help yourself, there's lots."

Resigning herself to sociability, Maud took one of each kind of hors d'oeuvres and settled down to eat them. Imogen sailed by and pressed a drink of something red and effervescent into her hand; Maud sipped it without thinking, then gave a start as she felt herself floating off her chair.

"George!"

Imogen said in exasperation, pulling Maud back down. "I should have known better than to let you make the punch."

"Couldn't help it," said George, grinning. "Red Balloon Soda's our latest thing, just had to try it out."

Fortunately, the effect faded after a few seconds, and Maud hooked her ankle around the leg of the chair before taking a second sip. Jennet, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the experience of levitation, and was sitting cross-legged in mid-air. The diamond on her finger winked in the light as she raised her glass for another drink; only then did Maud recall herself enough to ask, "How are the wedding plans coming?"

"Dire," said Jennet, with a sigh. "My aunt simply refuses to see reason. I keep telling her, no charms, no potions, no magic of any kind. But every few minutes, it's 'Oh, but dear, just a _little_ Scintillating Charm on your veil,' and 'But the wedding cake _has_ to sing, it's tradition,' and so _ad infinitum._ I thought she'd got all that out of her system when Rob married Laurel two years ago, but apparently not."

"Well," said Imogen, "you _are_ like a daughter to her, and she's already made a lot of concessions. I mean, it had to come as a shock when you insisted on a Muggle ceremony, in a Muggle church, with only fifty guests and half of them Muggles too."

"She should have seen that coming, though," Jennet insisted, who had finished off the last of her drink and was now drifting slowly back down to the sofa. "I mean, I practically _am_ a Muggle. And if we'd had anything like the big wizarding ceremony she wanted, with a lot of distant relatives and vague social acquaintances and an announcement inthe_ Daily Prophet,_ we might as well have put up a sign with big flashing letters reading DEATH EATERS ATTACK HERE." She grimaced. "Even now I don't think I'm going to be able to relax until it's all over."

George reached out and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand in a gesture of solidarity. "You think you're worried," he said. "Fred's plotting some prank for the wedding and for once I've absolutely no idea what he's up to."

"Oh, well, after _that,_ the most nefarious plans of You-Know-Who pale in comparison," said Imogen, rolling her eyes.

"I don't know how you two can make jokes about something like that," said Lucinda. "It's so awful."

"Awful but necessary," said Jennet philosophically. "Some days, if I didn't have George to make me laugh, I'd go mad. But you're right about one thing - let's not talk any more about You-Know-Who. This is supposed to be a celebration."

"A double celebration, actually," said George, reaching for another canapé. "Yesterday Fred and I got an offer to branch out with our business, and today we decided it was too good to refuse. So, it looks like we'll have a fair bit more work coming in."

"George, that's wonderful!" said Jennet, looking surprised and pleased. "You didn't tell me -"

"Yeah, well, I thought you had enough on your mind these days," he said with a lopsided smile. "And I didn't want to say anything until I was sure." He patted her knee. "I'll tell you more about it later."

Relief washed over Maud, sweeping her weariness away. She wanted to throw her arms around George's neck and hug him until he couldn't breathe, but she settled for giving him a radiant smile instead.

He returned the smile hesitantly, with a faintly puzzled look, and it was only then that it hit her: George didn't know they'd be working together. And judging by the casual indifference with which his eyes flicked over Imogen, he had no idea that she was with the Department of Secrets either. Which meant...

Maud glanced over at Imogen for confirmation, and saw her friend's mouth curve up in a small, wicked smile. Obviously, she'd realised the extent of George's ignorance too - and was already preparing to make capital of it. _Oh, George,_ thought Maud in barely concealed delight, _you are in for a surprise come Monday..._

#

It was nearly eleven o'clock before the party ended. By that time Maud, having been prevailed upon to open her presents in front of the group, found herself the owner of an antique fountain-pen (Lucinda), a portable self-warming cauldron (Jennet) with a beaming, rosy-cheeked face on one side that stuck out its tongue and blew a loud raspberry when the cauldron was hot (George), and a small, beautifully framed foe-glass (brought by Imogen on behalf of Uncle Alastor, who had been called away that evening).

The final gift was both the largest and the most disconcerting_. _The first layer of tissue disclosed a demure white lace camisole; the second, a pair of black silk boxer shorts with little cauldrons on them (which, Maud noticed, with a blush that made George whoop and Jennet and Lucinda look puzzled, were not her size). The third gift would have made her blush even more if she'd dared to look at it for more than a second: a little red leather volume entitled _The Magic of Love: Charms and Potions Every New Bride Should Know._ From anyone else such gifts would have seemed cruel, but Imogen's enclosure read _I'm not giving up hope, so neither should you - _and Maud was grateful for it.

And now, having waved everyone out the door and been forcibly turned away from the kitchen by Lucinda ("Don't be ridiculous, Maud. It's your _birthday"), _she was at last where she had so long hoped to be, alone in her bedroom with the door closed and her feet up, reading Snape's letter.

_...At this moment I desire nothing more than to be with you, to cast aside this loathsome charade and embrace the clear-eyed honesty with which you face the world. The Dark Lord's taint seeps through the very stones of Hogwarts, and the stench of it sickens me more each day._

_Draco Malfoy and his elite group of Slytherins have been plotting together in secret, preparing some proof of their loyalty to Voldemort; I detect Lucius's hand in this, but I have yet to determine what the plan might be, let alone what to do about it. As for me, my responsibilities at Hogwarts largely prevent me from meeting with my fellow Death Eaters now - which I would count a blessing, were it not for the knowledge that the Dark Lord has a special role in mind for me, and will soon call upon me to fulfil it._

_Harry, too, senses that some final and decisive conflict is at hand; each day I see him retreating further within himself, marshalling his thoughts and his strength for what lies ahead. I envy him his youth and resilience, for although he has been battered by shame and failure and the loss of friends, he still comes to life and blazes with righteous anger at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. I, on the other hand, am merely bone-weary of it._

_At first my separation from you was intolerable; now, after so many months apart, it seems a bleak inevitability. I would call this despair, were it not for the flickering hope your letters, and my thoughts of you, still kindle within me. Even far away, you remain my anchor, the one fixed point in a changing age. Do not fear the burden of my expectations, now or ever; I require nothing of you but to remain yourself._

_And now you are twenty-one, and no doubt wondering if your next birthday will be as lonely as this. I wish I could say that it will not; but in truth all I can say is that our world, for good or ill, is about to change. Whatever that may mean, you will need to be prepared for it; and as you love me, do so. Put aside whatever doubts or hindrances encumber you - even if I myself should prove one of them. I will not hold you to a promise I never asked you to make, nor blame you for relinquishing vows that were never spoken. And do not hesitate on my account: who knows but that in freeing yourself, you may free me as well?_

_Nevertheless, whether or not you choose to remain mine, I love you and will always be_

_Yours,_   
_S._

For some minutes Maud sat staring at the page; then she closed her hand slowly around it, crumpling the parchment_. I will not hold you to a promise I never asked you to make..._ The line pierced her conscience like a double-edged sword. It was true that he had not really asked her to marry him, at least not in so many words. In anticipating his proposal, she had only meant to comfort him, to give him some lasting and definite assurance of her love that would ease the pain of parting. Now, however, she wondered if she had been presumptuous, binding him to a commitment he had not been fully prepared to make.

Of his feelings, then and now, she had no doubt. But he had always been more farsighted than she, and perhaps had foreseen what added difficulties their engagement might create. _In freeing yourself, you may free me as well..._ Was that what he needed from her? Would the best proof of her love be to cut the ties between them and let him go?

And yet... the bond they shared could not be severed, except by death itself; even if she broke the engagement and ceased to write to him, there would be no freedom for either of them as long as the other yet breathed. If she had erred in declaring herself ready to become his wife, it was too late to undo that error now.

_Noble idiots, both of you, _growled her uncle's voice in her mind. It was what he had said to her after one of her painful public encounters with Snape, an unexpected meeting in Diagon Alley which had been conducted coolly and with the utmost brevity, and had left her shaken for days afterward. If you're going to be paranoid and miserable every time you see each other anyway, why don't you just stage a secret elopement and have done with it? It could hardly make matters worse.

Part of her had longed to take his advice, but the rest knew better: if she and Snape began seeing each other again, particularly as husband and wife, it would be difficult or impossible for them to stop. Stolen moments would lead to stolen hours, and the danger of being caught together would be enormously increased. Even if they met at some secure location like Glossop's office (a use of her facilities which Maud was quite sure the Director would _not_ approve), their repeated mutual absences from wherever they were supposed to be at the time might well be noted - which, taken in tandem with the rumours that had circulated during Maud's year at Hogwarts, could prove quite convincing evidence against them.

Not that a growing number of people didn't have the power to betray them anyway... At times Maud had caught Lucinda looking at the pot of night-lilies thoughtfully, and wondered if even she knew the truth. The whole charade seemed more ridiculous and even hopeless by the day, but even so, there was only one way out of it now.

Maud opened her hand again, smoothed the crumpled letter out upon her knee _(If by next Tuesday we are still not in receipt of your funds,_ it now read) and folded it carefully. With a swift gesture of her wand she Banished it, to join the others in the old tin dispatch-box beneath her bed; then she turned over, slid between the cool sheets, and sank at last into the merciful oblivion of sleep.

#

"Maud. _Maud!"_

The voice, and the hand on her shoulder, were Lucinda's, jolting her awake. Maud blinked at the sunlight streaming through the open curtains, said foggily, "What? What's wrong?"

"The wireless," Lucinda blurted out. "I just heard the news -" She put her hands to her mouth, her eyes huge and haunted. "Oh, Maud, this is bad."

Maud had to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She sat upright, said with slow, deliberate emphasis, "Calm down. Tell me. What happened?"

Lucinda swallowed. "You-Know-Who's army attacked Azkaban last night. A lot of the guards were killed, and some of the creatures too - even a _dragon_ -"

A cold knife of fear stabbed Maud's heart. "But the Ministry would have known this was coming - they must have been prepared."

"They were, or thought they were, but something in their plans went wrong. The prisoners were all freed, and oh, Maud, you know what that means -"

She knew, all right. And the bitter irony of it, after Severus's letter and her thoughts of last night, was almost too much to bear. Maud closed her eyes, breathed a name like a curse:

"Muriel."


	9. Sigh-Tempests

"I don't believe it! That's the second time this week!"

Tony slammed the lid back down and cursed bitterly. "I spent three bloody hours nursing this batch. Then I leave the room for _ten minutes_ and it goes flat on me."

"Pity, that," said Fred sympathetically.

"Yeah," agreed George. With deft movements he chopped up the last of his dried dragon liver and added it to the seething cauldron in front of him. "Funny how that happens. Oh, and by the way, Tony old man - when you see Peg, would you mind telling her we need another few jars of salamander blood?"

Maud pretended to tidy her workbench, but all the while she was biting her lip in an effort to keep from laughing. Outwardly, Fred and George maintained every appearance of polite amiability; but their sly mockery of Tony's quirks became more blatant every day.

"Enough of your cheek, lads," said Tony. His voice was level, but a dark flush crept along his jaw as he spoke. "Just keep to your own work, and let me take care of mine." He glanced at Maud, said in a lower voice, "I'm counting on you to keep these two in line, love. Don't disappoint me." Then he turned on his heel and strode out.

Under other circumstances, Maud might have felt sorry for Tony. After working so long with only Sarah and Maud, he had been ill-prepared to deal with the exuberant Weasley twins. Not only were they younger, quicker, and funnier than he was, but they had their own definite ideas about how to do things, and their blithe disregard for established procedures had come as a considerable shock to Tony's supervisory ego. Even worse, it was soon embarrassingly clear that their daredevil approach to potion-making worked just as well as, or even better than, Tony's more careful and systematic methods.

But that had been just the beginning of Tony's troubles. Early on, he made the cardinal mistake of threatening Fred and George with dismissal if they didn't shape up and conform to his expectations; the twins had (correctly) objected that there was nothing wrong with the quality of their work and that their assignments were always finished on time; and in the end the matter had gone all the way to Glossop, who flatly stated that the Department had no other qualified workers to take the Weasleys' place, and Tony would just have to deal with them as best he could.

Which meant that Tony was effectively robbed of power in his own lab, and both he and the Weasley twins knew it. Maud would never forget the day, not long afterward, when Fred and George played one outrageous practical joke too many, and Tony's patience finally snapped. All traces of his characteristic bonhomie vanished, and in a series of blunt, scathing sentences he told the twins precisely what he thought of them.

"You're not at bloody Hogwarts anymore!" he raged. "So you can stop being a couple of immature prats and do as you're told, the _way_ you're told! And until you do, don't expect me to give you any serious assignments, because with your attitude I wouldn't trust you to pick your noses without supervision! I don't know what Glossop was thinking when she hired you, because if I had anything to say about it, you'd be scouring cauldrons for the rest of your bloody lives -"

At last Tony had finished ranting and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. There was a moment of profound silence. Then Fred had looked at George and said matter-of-factly, "You realise, of course, this means war."

Up to that point the twins' rebellion had consisted mostly of good-natured teasing and a few lunch-hour pranks. Now, however, they baited Tony mercilessly. Not only did they ignore his prohibitions against unsupervised experimentation in the lab - often with spectacular results - but they actually made _friends_ with his nemesis, Peg McGillicuddy.

Not that it had been difficult. Personally, Maud had never had a problem with Peg or her supplies; she simply hadn't thought it prudent to draw Tony's attention to the fact. But the twins had been shameless about it. They'd brought Peg flowers, flattered her outrageously, and even taken her out to lunch. Now the old supply nurse thought Fred and George were wonderful, and provided them with the best ingredients on a moment's notice.

For a while Tony had seemed to be mellowing a little where Peg was concerned; now, however, the mere mention of her name made him grind his teeth. The only way he could save face whenever Fred or George touched that particular sore spot was to walk away - and the twins had quickly learned to take advantage of the fact.

George looked back at the closed door, an appraising glint in his eye. "How long d'you think he'll be gone this time?"

"Dunno," said Fred. "Ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Long enough." George whipped a little book out of his sleeve, began leafing eagerly through the pages. "Right. Half a pound of dried dragon liver, six inches of fire crab intestines, two cups of clabbert pus, and a fresh ashwinder egg -"

"What's that?" Maud asked. "Don't tell me you stole Tony's secret recipes."

"Not ruddy likely!" scoffed George, as Fred began deftly measuring and adding the rest of the ingredients. "Who needs them, when we've got this?" He grinned affectionately at the leather-bound volume he held. "You know, I like my granddad-in-law more and more every day. Pity he's dead."

Maud was startled. "You mean that recipe came from Prospero Peachtree?"

"Yup." George waved the book at her. "Jennet's aunt found this when she was sorting through his things - it's got all kinds of great stuff in it. Fred and I have been trying out some of these potions on weekends, and they're _wicked_." He grinned maniacally. "Let's just say Mum doesn't have to worry about gnomes in the garden any more."

"'Course," said Fred reflectively, peering into the cauldron, "she doesn't have to worry about the garden either..."

"I'd no idea Peachtree was so good at potions," said Maud. "Wasn't he on the Committee for Experimental Charms?"

For a moment George frowned at her, evidently perplexed by her ignorance; then his face cleared and he said, "Oh, of course. I forgot - you weren't at his memorial. Yeah, he was on the Committee, all right. But that didn't stop him experimenting with every other kind of magic as well, when it came to his big obsession."

"Which was?" asked Maud, curiously.

Fred coughed. "Think it's ready," he said. "Want to have a go?"

"Yeah," said George. He glanced over at Maud. "Wish me luck," he said, taking a beaker of yellow, gently fizzing liquid from Fred's gloved hand. "Bottoms up -" and he poured the potion straight down his throat.

There was a moment's silence, while George swallowed, winced, and blinked. "Dunno," he said. "Maybe we missed an ingredient." He took a step closer to the cauldron, as though to look inside; then all at once he hiccuped, and belched an enormous gout of dazzling white fire straight into Fred's face.

Maud gave a strangled cry, sure that one or both of the twins would be horribly burned; but an instant later the flames died out and Fred reappeared, dazed and beaming. "That was flippin' _brilliant,"_ he said. "You all right, George?"

George thumped his chest, wheezed, and gave a watery smile. "Wow," he said hoarsely. "Yeah."

"Why," said Maud, recovering belatedly from her shock, "would Prospero Peachtree have come up with a recipe for breathable fire that doesn't burn?"

"Because," said George, leaning back against the workbench as Fred seized a pad of paper and began eagerly scribbling down notes on their latest experiment, "he was a pyromancer - or, as Jennet prefers to put it, a pyromaniac. Absolutely potty about fire. Loved setting it, playing with it, making new kinds of it. Set his house alight about three times a week, which is how Jennet's parents got together. Did you know her dad was a Muggle fireman?"

"No, I didn't," said Maud. "Her mother died in the first war against Voldemort, didn't she? Did the Death Eaters kill her father too?"

"Nah. He died a year before that, trying to rescue somebody's cat from a house fire. Jennet doesn't even remember him, she was that young. Anyway, Peachtree was pretty upset when his firstborn daughter skipped off to go live with a Muggle - they were an old pure-blood family, and a lot of his so-called friends told him he ought to go after Dolly and bring her back by force. He almost did, in fact, but Dumbledore talked him out of it - told him to keep his mouth shut and his door open or he'd lose his daughter altogether." He grinned. "Good thing old Prospero listened. Not just for me, but for him too, in the end - he adored Rob and Jennet when they came along, and took the whole family back into his home after their Dad died. He had a bit of a shock when Jennet turned out to be a Squib, and a nastier one when Dolly was killed, but Dumbledore got him through all that, as well."

"You know," said Maud slowly, "that answers a lot of questions I'd had about Peachtree. The loyalty to Dumbledore, the phoenix Patronus - what else, for a man who loved fire? - and that wandless Immolation spell."

"Yeah," said George, sobering. "He wrote the theory behind that one down in his diaries too. It was actually a kind of Transfiguration, believe it or not - but one that couldn't be reversed. Like being an Animagus, but you can only do it once."

Maud nodded thoughtfully. Was that what Dumbledore had done, at the very end? Immolated himself at the same moment Voldemort had spoken his final curse? It would certainly explain why there had been nothing left...

"We'd better get this stuff out of the way before Tony sees it," said Fred, clapping a lid on the cauldron and heaving it off the fire. "We can bottle it later."

"Do you think it might be any use to the Ministry?" asked Maud.

George looked at Fred. "It _is_ pretty spectacular..."

"Might be a good distraction in a fight," said Fred.

"Yeah," concluded George. "We'll add a few bottles to the arsenal. Why not?"

"Just make sure you brief my uncle on how to use it," said Maud. "Then he can tell the others, when it's time."

"Will do." George grabbed a series of bottles and boxes off the shelf seemingly at random, as Fred filled up another cauldron and stoked the fire. "Well, back to the daily grind. Medea's mercy, how many gallons of Energising Extract can one army need?"

One day, Maud thought, when all this was over, she would take the time to tell Fred and especially George just how much she appreciated them both. Over the past three months alone, the Weasley twins' cheerful presence in the lab had sometimes seemed like the only thing keeping her sane. No matter what happened, she could depend on them; and in Snape's continued absence, that support was more precious to her than Fred or George could begin to guess.

Right now, however, there was work to be done, and Tony might return at any moment. Maud turned back to her workbench and resumed snipping herbs into the Soothing Solution she was making. A loose strand of pale hair fell into her eyes; she put down her scissors and pushed her hair back with an irritated gesture. It was longer now than it had ever been, nearly as long as Lucinda's, and she often thought she ought to get it cut for practicality's sake. But every time she did, she remembered Severus's long fingers weaving through her hair, the way he gathered it up in his hands when he kissed her, and it felt like treachery to even consider it.

She tied her hair into a knot behind her head and worked determinedly away in silence for several minutes, only half-listening to the muttered comments and exclamations of Fred and George behind her, before the door opened again and Tony came back in.

"Right, then," he said, clapping his big hands together, "that's it for today. Clear up and clear off."

"What?" asked Fred dubiously. "It's only three o'clock."

"I don't make the orders, Freddy-boy, I just deliver them. Out. Make it quick." Then, as the Weasleys began reluctantly to obey, Tony crooked a finger and beckoned Maud over to his side. In a confidential tone he said, "Maud, love, can I have a word in private? I'm in a bit of a fix, and I could use a spot of womanly advice." He lowered his voice still further, whispered, "It's about Sarah."

Maud was taken aback. "I - yes, of course. Here, you mean?"

He reddened a little. "In a minute. If you don't mind." He jerked a thumb at Fred and George, whose backs were turned. "But I'll wait till those two are out the door. Wouldn't want to give them something more to laugh at."

"Of course not," said Maud faintly.

"Good girl. Thanks." He patted her shoulder, then turned and left.

Maud closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked up again, it was to see Fred and George regarding her with evident concern. "Don't worry," she said, tapping two fingers against her cheek in a gesture she knew George would understand. "I'm fine. Just - tired."

George nodded, and returned the sign. _Two minutes or less._ "Take care of yourself, OK, Maud?" he said in a voice loud enough to be overheard. "Get some rest, or something."

"Yeah," said Fred, shouldering his pack and opening the door wide. "We'll see you around."

Maud followed them out into the laboratory's main room, where the warm light of early summer slanted through the windows, making the dust motes dance. Tony sat on a stool in the corner, looking glum; she tried not to pay too much attention to him. "Goodbye," she said to the twins. "Have a good weekend."

Fred and George gave her identical grins, then touched their fingers to their foreheads in mock salute and Disapparated. Maud, left alone with Tony, turned to him with fatal calm and said, "What was that about Sarah?"

Tony sighed and heaved himself off the stool. "She called me up last night. Told me she was sorry, that she wanted to get together and talk." He walked across the floor to her, scratching the back of his head as though he were perplexed. "I didn't know quite what to say, except, maybe - _Imperio."_

Maud's mind went blank. She was floating in a sea of dim light; her thoughts, her cares, all drifted away on the tide...

_Feels nice, doesn't it? _echoed Uncle Alastor's rasping voice in her mind. _Very relaxing. But with every moment you give into it, your will gets weaker and your enemy gets stronger..._

"Sorry, love," said Tony, with what sounded like genuine regret. "You're going to have to come with me." He held out a hand to her, and she took it automatically. But even as she did so, her uncle's lessons came back to her again - _Vigilance, Maudie! Come on, fight! _\- and she found herself planting her feet, bracing for the battle she knew must come.

"Would you look at that," said George's voice conversationally from behind them. "They're holding hands. How sweet."

"Yeah," Fred remarked. "And to think we never knew."

Tony's mouth dropped open. He recovered himself with an effort, tried to sound fierce and authoritative: "What d'you think you're doing? Just Apparating in here like that - it's dangerous in a hospital! You're supposed to go through the front entrance!"

_Vigilance..._

"Yeah, we know, but we forgot something," said George mildly. "So we came back for it."

_Fight..._

"Thought you might have seen it around," Fred added. "It's a small, black thing..." He stooped to look under a bench, then continued on in the same casual tone, "looks kind of like, oh, I dunno, a skull..."

_NOW!_

With all her strength Maud wrenched her hand free of Tony's grasp, dove, and rolled beneath the nearest table. She heard Tony's hoarse shout of anger and surprise, saw a flash of blue robes as Fred lunged forward; then the twins' voices rang out almost as one:

"Expelliarmus!"

"Petrificus totalus!"

Something heavy crashed to the floor. Maud pulled her feet up to look at it and saw Tony's eyes glaring helplessly back at her, his face frozen in an ugly grimace of rage. Her heart was pounding and her throat was dry, but she managed to lift her head and look him straight in the eye as she said, with cold and deliberate precision:

"By the authority of the Ministry and in the memory of Callum and Bridget Gamble, you are under arrest for murder and high treason." She gave him a thin smile, pushing up his sleeve to reveal the shadow of the Dark Mark on his arm. "And all this time you thought I believed Sarah was the Death Eater among us. Sorry about that - _love."_

#

Euphemia Glossop's conference room had never been so crowded. Fred and George sat on one side of the long table, with Maud protectively sandwiched between them; on the other side was Imogen, uncharacteristically sombre in dark green robes, while a pale and nervous-looking Sarah Proctor took the seat nearest the door. Tony, bound to his chair, sat unwillingly at the far end, against the wall.

"So, Mr. Gamble," said Euphemia Glossop crisply, sitting down at the head of the table and putting her fingertips together, "it would seem you have finally overreached yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," insisted Tony, grimacing as he struggled against the powerful Restraining Charm that held him. "You've no right to treat me this way! I'm a loyal Ministry employee!"

"Loyal to the Dark Lord, maybe," muttered Imogen, tapping her wand against her palm as though itching to use it on him. "You're a disgrace to Hufflepuff, Gamble."

He eyed her with resentment. "And who the devil are _you_?"

"I'm Maud's best friend - and your worst nightmare," said Imogen, smiling sweetly at him. "I took the statements of the orphans from Thistledown Lane."

Tony's face went blank. Glossop continued with cool deliberation: "Even before your brother's death, Mr. Gamble, your prejudice against his choice of a Muggle wife and career was well known. And the night before the Death Eaters came to Thistledown Lane, a man's voice - your voice - was overheard arguing with Callum in his office."

His mouth dropped open. "You're never accusing me of killing my own brother!"

"No," said Glossop. "I will do you that much credit, at least. But you knew that his orphanage would be targeted. And by all accounts, your brotherly concern for Callum consisted of telling him to 'get rid of the Muggle rubbish before it's too late.'" Her eyes hardened. "You must have known that no man of honour - least of all a selfless and caring man who loved his wife and the children under their care - could possibly accept such advice."

Tony was silent, but his jaw tightened, and his hands clenched hard on the arms of the chair.

"Still," Glossop went on relentlessly, "your genuine dismay when you learned that Thistledown Lane had been destroyed did one thing for your cover. Maud might have suspected your involvement with the Enemy sooner, had she not been convinced that you had changed your attitude toward Bridget Gamble, and truly learned to care for her as well as Callum, before they died."

"My mistake," said Maud bitterly, and George put a hand on her shoulder as Glossop continued:

"Once Maud discovered that you were sending the Ministry sub-standard Exploding Extract, however, it was easy for her to put the pieces together - particularly once she had read the transcripts of the orphans' testimony. Not to mention that your clumsy attempts to blame Sarah and the supply nurse at St. Mungo's for your 'mistakes' did your Department training little credit. Indeed, were it not for Peg McGillicuddy's ignorance of the lies you were telling about her - not to mention the feelings Sarah had for you, which kept her hoping for your repentance and reform - you would have been caught long ago."

"That's a load of cobblers," snapped Tony. "Don't tell me you believe this lot -" with a contemptuous jerk of his head he indicated Fred, George and Maud - "after all the things _they've_ done? The boys nearly blew up my lab a hundred times, and she egged them on -"

"I gave you my respect," whispered Maud, hot tears pricking her eyes. "I trusted you. Sarah believed in you. And you betrayed us all."

"Besides, if I'm such a villain," Tony went on rapidly, ignoring her, "what about Sarah, then? She tried to kill me - cut a great gash in my shoulder - Maud saw it herself -"

"You _made_ me do it," said Sarah in her thin, wavering voice. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face was as colourless as the rest of her. "I'd loved you since Hogwarts, and you knew it, and you _used_ me, knowing I'd protect you - and when I finally couldn't bear it any more and confronted you, you put me under Imperius -" She made a little, choking sound and turned her face away.

"But you underestimated Sarah," said Glossop flatly, her grey eyes boring into Tony's. "Even though you told her she had no hope of proving anything against you, because Maud, the only corroborating witness to your guilt, was your lover and your partner in crime -"

Imogen let out a most uncharacteristic oath, and Maud half-started to her feet. The gall, the nerve, the sheer _cruelty_ of the man - but once again, the gentle pressure of George's hand steadied her. She sank back down again, to see Sarah looking at her with red-rimmed, martyred eyes. Maud shook her head in a gesture of absolute denial; Sarah returned a slow, sad nod, as if to say: _I know that. Now._

"In spite of that, Miss Proctor was wise enough to come to me and tell me all she knew," finished Glossop. "But even had she not done so, our own surveillance records, dating back as far as the previous year when Maud first approached me with her suspicions, were sufficient to confirm your guilt."

"Guess you've got me over a barrel, then," said Tony, with a sneer that didn't quite cover his obvious dismay. "But if you were all so sure I was working for You-Know-Who, why not clap me in irons and pack me off to Azkaban straight away?" When Glossop remained silent, he went on, a rising note of hysterical triumph in his voice. "Got you there, eh? Maybe your case isn't so air-tight as you like to make out."

"You useless _git,"_ said George fiercely. "Of course we didn't arrest you. We knew exactly who you were, where you were, what you were up to, and why. So what point would there be in showing our hand, and giving You-Know-Who the chance to come up with Plan B?"

"Precisely," said Glossop, unfazed by the interruption. "As long as the Enemy believes that Tony is still at large, and continuing to provide the Ministry with a weak and ineffective potions arsenal, he will underestimate the strength of our forces. And that gives us a strategic advantage we cannot afford to lose. As will the information you are about to give us, Mr. Gamble."

Tony spat on the table, all traces of affability gone now. "I'm not giving you anything, you Muggle-loving hag!"

Imogen pointed her wand at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, or lose it. The tongue, or the head - I don't really care which."

"Oh, Merlin," groaned Tony. "Not the old 'good Auror, bad Auror' routine. What kind of a fool do you think I am?"

Glossop gave a swift sidelong glance at Maud, who quietly turned and went to a tall cabinet in the corner. With a tap of her wand she unlocked it, and withdrew a small bottle of clear liquid. She had brewed it herself, drawing on the advanced potions skills that Snape had taught her, skills which Tony in his arrogance had never called upon; now she carried the vial back to the conference table proudly, and set it down with a cold clinking sound just out of Tony's reach.

"You can't do that!" Sweat leaped out on his brow, and his voice was hoarse with desperation. "It's controlled - strict Ministry guidelines -"

"Ah," said Glossop, "but we _are_ the Ministry." She raised her eyebrows, her gaze sweeping over the small group assembled around the table. "Are there any objections to the use of Veritaserum in this case?"

There was a profound silence.

"I thought not." She gave a nod to the Weasley twins. "If you will?"

"With pleasure," said Fred grimly, cracking his knuckles. He and George stepped forward and seized Tony by the shoulders. He shouted and tried to struggle, but the Restraining Charm held him fast. With the muscular strength of the Beaters they had once been, George forced Tony's head back while Fred pulled open his jaws.

"All right, go," grunted George.

Maud looked back at Sarah and held out the bottle. "You have the right," she said quietly, but the other woman flushed and shook her head. Resigned, Maud leaned across the table and poured two careful drops of the Truth Potion down Tony's shrieking throat.

It was only a few seconds before Tony's struggles subsided, and a slack, dazed expression came over his face. When Fred and George let go of him and stepped back, he slumped in his chair, all resistance gone.

"Now," said Glossop quietly. "You told Maud she would have to come with you. Where were you taking her and why?"

Tony's mouth moved automatically. "My Master summoned me early this morning, and told me to put Maud under Imperius and bring her to him at Hogwarts before nightfall. I don't know why."

"Hogwarts!" said Glossop, clearly surprised. "You mean that the Enemy is at Hogwarts now?"

"Yes."

She exchanged glances with Imogen. "Alone?"

"No. He said that when I came to him, with Maud... we would join his army."

The group around the table looked at each other in dismay. They had all been expecting Voldemort to move on Hogwarts soon, but the Department had received no word that his armies were heading in that direction, much less that they had already arrived.

"They can't have Apparated," George said, frowning. "Not to Hogwarts."

"Yeah," said Fred. "They must have come through Hogsmeade, or from the other side of the forest."

"But if they had," Imogen objected, "they'd have been seen and reported by now. And they haven't been." She looked back at Glossop for confirmation. "Have they?"

Glossop shook her head, then turned back to Tony. "How did the Enemy get his army to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know. All he said was that he had some loyal followers in Hogwarts, and that they would make a way."

_Loyal followers, _thought Maud, and then it hit her. She could see the words in her mind, written in Severus's slanting, elegant hand:

_Draco Malfoy and his elite group of Slytherins have been plotting together in secret, preparing some proof of their loyalty to Voldemort..._

It looked as though they had succeeded.

Glossop Summoned a quill and parchment with a snap of her fingers and scribbled a hasty note. Sealing it with a touch of her wand, she handed it to Sarah and said, "Take this to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Tell them to mobilise their forces immediately."

"Me?" faltered Sarah. "But I -"

"Don't argue," said Glossop firmly. "Just go. Now!"

Sarah blinked, swallowed, pushed her chair back, and Disapparated. Glossop turned back to the table, her fingers tapping out her impatience. "All right, Mr. Gamble," she said. "Tell me everything you know about the Enemy's plan to attack Hogwarts. _Everything."_

#

"You can't do this!"

George was more upset than Maud had ever seen him before, his face alternating between white and red. "It's insanity - you're not trained - you'll get yourself killed!"

"I have to go," said Maud flatly. "It's me Voldemort wants."

"That's exactly why you _can't_ go!" shouted George. "You're playing right into You-Know-Who's hands - you might as well have just gone off with Tony in the first place!"

Maud turned to Glossop. "Tell him."

"No, tell _her!"_ George insisted. "You can't possibly mean to let her go off to Hogwarts - it'd be sheer murder. Send an Auror, someone who might actually stand a chance. There's always Polyjuice -"

"You don't understand. I'm the only one who _does_ stand a chance," Maud interrupted before Glossop could speak. "Voldemort already suspects treachery from at least one of his servants, or he wouldn't have sent for me at all. So don't you think he'll want to be absolutely sure that Tony's brought him the real Maud Moody?" She put a hand on his arm, willing him to listen. "Look. He's not going to kill me, at least not right away; I'm no use to him dead. But if we sent an impostor, he would certainly kill her. And then he'd simply send someone else to get the real me, and I'd end up in exactly the same situation - only the Ministry would have lost all hope of catching Voldemort by surprise, and I'd have the death of an innocent Auror on my conscience."

George pushed his hands through his hair in frustration, then looked at Glossop. "All right, not that way. But - there's got to be a better alternative."

"Not that I can see," said Glossop quietly. "Until the Ministry forces can get to Hogwarts and implement our strategy, it is vital that the Enemy continue to believe that we are completely unaware of his plans. If Maud - the real Maud - does not arrive on schedule, his suspicions will be aroused, and we will lose what little tactical advantage we have gained."

George let out an exasperated breath. "You're barking, both of you. What about Tony, then? You're going to need him to show up at Hogwarts, too - or is Maud just supposed to go waltzing up to You-Know-Who on her own and say, 'Hullo, sailor'?"

"She won't be on her own," said Imogen. "At least, not if I have anything to say about it. For one thing, she's far too soft-hearted to protect herself properly -" she gave Maud an affectionate grin that did not quite conceal the lines of worry on her face - "and for another, Alastor'd never forgive me."

"But there's no way _you_ can impersonate Tony," said George, with a grimace of distaste that might have been for the idea, or Imogen's casual use of Mad-Eye Moody's first name, or both. "You're the wrong sex, for one thing; for another, you hardly know him. Granted, once You-Know-Who's got the real Maud he won't have any reason to suspect he hasn't got the real Tony as well - but there's no sense being blatant about it."

"Well, _somebody's_ got to do it," pointed out Imogen. "Maud putting Tony under Imperius and making him bring her to the Enemy would be a lovely bit of irony, but it's hardly practical, even if she knew how."

"And I don't," said Maud quietly. Defend against it, yes; but perform it - the very thought made her shudder.

There was an awkward silence. At last George drew a deep breath, and his chin came up. "All right, then. Bring out the Polyjuice. I'll go."

Fred put his head down on the table with an audible thud. "I knew he was going to say that."

"George," said Maud in alarm, "You can't. You've only been married a month - you didn't even get a decent honeymoon - if you get yourself killed, what would I say to Jennet?"

"And if I stand by and let _you_ get yourself killed, do you think I could look her in the face?" He shook his head. "Besides, I'm not going to get killed. Like I said before, You-Know-Who's not going to look too closely at me if he knows you're the genuine article, so I'll probably be safer than you are. But Fred and I are the only ones here who know Tony well enough to impersonate him, and I'm the only one who knows _you_ well enough to make the right moves at the right time." He pushed back his chair and folded his arms determinedly. "So it's got to be me."

Much as it distressed Maud to admit it, he had a point. George alone understood the nature of her relationship with Severus, and had reason to believe in Snape's integrity. He also knew Maud far better than Fred did, and his ability to read her subtle cues might well make the difference between life and death for both of them. She bowed her head in resignation, and made no further protest.

"Fine," said Imogen, rubbing her hands together. "Maud goes as herself, you go as Tony, and I go with both of you, wearing Alastor's Invisibility Cloak. That way, at least one of us can take the Enemy by surprise and pull Maud out if anything goes wrong." She turned to Glossop expectantly. "Any objections, O Wise One?"

"No, my dear," said Glossop, with more gentleness than was her wont. "I myself see no reasonable alternative. But -" her voice sharpened again, and her severe glance swept over the three of them - "I must insist that all of you exercise extreme caution, and take no foolish risks. Do not attempt to engage the Enemy directly, do you understand? You will assuredly lose. Your presence at Hogwarts is meant to be a delaying tactic, nothing more. Fulfil that role, and you will have more than done your duty."

"Hurrah for them," said Fred glumly, plucking hairs out of Tony's lolling head like petals from a daisy. "But what about me?"

"I have work for you here, Mr. Weasley," said Glossop, with a thin smile. "Rest assured, you will not be idle."

Maud walked to Glossop's open cabinet, ran her fingers along the rack, and pulled out a flask of Polyjuice potion, which she handed wordlessly to George. Then she conjured up a glass vial, took the hairs Fred held out to her and dropped them in.

"That's it, then," said George resolutely. "I'll pop by the lab to pick up some potions for 'Tony's' arsenal, Imogen can get Moody's cloak, and we'll be off. Fred, mate -"

"Yeah, I know." He sounded resigned. "Tell Jennet you'll be late for dinner."

George gave him the ghost of a smile. "That, too."

Maud could bear it no longer. Who was she to have such friends, people who would risk their very lives for her? She wanted to cry out to them, to protest that she wasn't worth it: but she knew it would be no use. Her voice cracked as she said, "If we're going to go, let's _go_. Please."

Imogen's hand came down gently on her shoulder. "It's going to be all right, Maud. We'll look after you."

She nodded, no longer trusting herself to speak. _But who will look after Severus?_ she thought desperately. _Who will save him?_

And for once, she had no answer.


	10. Tear-Floods

The lab at St. Mungo's was quiet, a single fallen stool the only evidence of the violent confrontation that had taken place that afternoon. Now three figures stood in the centre of the floor, bathed in the pale golden light of early evening: one young man and two young women, standing close together with the tips of their wands against their mouths.

_"Exaudio," _said George clearly, stretching out his wand to touch first Maud's ear, then Imogen's. Tony's borrowed robes strained as he moved, noticeably short for him and too tight in the shoulders: he had not taken the Polyjuice yet.

_"Exaudio," _echoed Maud, copying his gesture; Imogen followed suit, and the three-way link was complete.

"Better test it first," said Imogen, then tapped her ear and subvocalised, _"Er... is this thing on?"_

George snorted, and even Maud gave a reluctant half-smile. The poor performance of the Muggle sound system at George and Jennet's wedding reception had become something of a standing joke in the month since; it was a good thing the three of them wouldn't have to count on anything so unreliable to make themselves heard today.

"Brilliant idea, George," Imogen continued in her normal voice, then added with a touch of envy, "Wish _I'd _thought of it."

George reddened slightly at the unexpected praise. "Yeah, well, let's just keep it for when it's needed, OK? Having someone do a running commentary in your ear is really distracting."

"Oh, indeed?" said Maud dryly. "I'd never have guessed."

That should have been George's cue to laugh, but instead he grimaced, as though her words had pained him. "Can we do without the Snape impersonations? No offence."

At first Maud was taken aback; then she realised he was right. Ever since this afternoon, when Tony's abduction attempt had confirmed the worst of her fears, she _had_ been sounding more and more like Severus. But then, she had been feeling more and more like him, too.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I just... find it hard to get him off my mind."

"Well, of course!" exclaimed Imogen, shooting George a quelling glare. "Look, let's just be honest with each other. Tony might not have known why the Enemy wanted you, but I think we can all make a pretty good guess. The Enemy must have been talking to Muriel, and now that he knows about you and Severus, he plans to use you as leverage, to force Snape to do what he wants."

Maud nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"But it's _not_ going to happen," said George, his voice husky with conviction. "We'll pull you out of there, Maud - there's no way we'll let You-Know-Who hurt you -"

"No," said Maud shakily. "He'll just hurt Severus instead." And then the tears came, and she put her hand over her mouth to try and hold them back but she couldn't, and Imogen gathered her into her arms and held her as she wept. George stood awkwardly beside them, obviously not knowing what to say, but she felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, and knew that he was doing his best to bring her comfort.

Nevertheless, Maud could see no hope of consolation now. In spite of George's brave words she knew, and suspected Imogen knew as well, that she would be hurt no matter what happened. Muriel, in her seemingly limitless malice, had seen to that.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "If I hadn't made Muriel hate me so much - if I'd been better at hiding the truth from her -"

"Nonsense," said Imogen in a firm tone. "You did nothing wrong. You were just yourself. And Severus won't blame you for that, any more than we do." She took a step back and tilted up Maud's chin with one finger, forcing the younger witch to meet her dark and uncharacteristically serious eyes. "Severus can take care of himself, Maud. He's been playing this game almost as long as you've been alive. And ever since Muriel escaped from Azkaban, he's known, just as you have, that it might come to this."

Maud gave a reluctant nod.

"So don't underestimate Severus - or yourself." Imogen's gaze was intent. "You're both prepared, which gives you an advantage. The Enemy is powerful, but he's not infallible. Don't let him fool you into thinking otherwise. Just remember your Occlumency training and you'll be fine." She shook Maud lightly, emphatically. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Good." She let Maud go, turned an inquiring look on George. "Ready?"

"Yeah, just about. Give me a second." He opened the left side of his cloak to disclose several rows of shallow pockets, all of them empty; glancing up at the shelf above him, he touched his wand first to one of the pockets, then to a bottle marked_ Wit-Sharpening Potion_.

"Isn't that one of Tony's?" asked Maud, a little hesitantly. "It's his handwriting on the label."

"Nope." One corner of George's mouth turned up in a little, self-satisfied smile. "For the last six weeks or so, Fred and I have been sneaking back here every chance we got to dump out Tony's potions and replace 'em with our own. We knew we'd replaced all of his stuff that got shipped to the Ministry, but we reckoned it wouldn't hurt to make sure the lab supplies were OK too." He touched another pocket, then another bottle, this one labelled _Strength Serum_. "There, that's it, then."

"I'm a bit confused," said Imogen. "What exactly are you planning to do with those bottles?"

"It's simple," said George patiently. His fingers dipped into the pocket he'd just touched, and immediately the bottle of Strength Serum vanished from the shelf above. When he pulled his hand out, it was holding the bottle. "See?"

"Not about that," said Imogen, with a touch of annoyance. "I'm not completely daft, you know: I know a Linking Charm when I see one. I meant what's _in_ the bottles. Aren't those potions supposed to be Tony's gifts to the other Death Eaters?"

"Yep."

"Then... why are you giving them good stuff?"

George handed her the bottle. "Do a Revealing Charm on the label," he said.

Somewhat dubiously, Imogen gave the bottle a tap with her wand and said, _"Aperio."_

At once the letters shifted fluidly into George's rounder, bolder handwriting: now the label read _Sleeping Solution_. "That's what's _really_ in there," he said. "While you and Maud were breaking into Mad-Eye's house -"

"We didn't _break in_," said Maud, with a touch of asperity. True, her uncle had already left to join the Ministry forces by the time they arrived; but his house was always open to Maud, and she knew he would not object to Imogen borrowing his cloak.

"- I was making good use of my time to change these labels." George tapped his nose sagely with one finger and drawled, "Takes a lot to catch me napping, love."

"Eurgh," said Imogen with distaste. "Save that for after you've taken the Polyjuice, will you?" She put the bottle down, then picked up the invisibility cloak from the workbench and swung it around her shoulders. "All right, then, you're a clever boy and we all love you madly - but we'd better get out of here, or the Enemy's going to wonder what Tony and Maud are up to."

"Right." George took the bottle of Polyjuice out of his pocket and looked at it without enthusiasm. "Here goes, then..." He pulled the cork out, tipped the contents into his mouth, swallowed, and grimaced horribly. "Tastes like horse muck."

"How would you know?" asked Imogen with interest - and then the transformation began. George's features shifted, distorted, remoulded themselves; his torso thickened, while his arms and legs became shorter; and his thick red hair faded first to dingy brown, then thinned out and receded from his forehead. A few seconds more, and the change was complete.

"That was _disgusting_," said George, in Tony's voice. "And to think I used to wonder why people didn't use Polyjuice more often."

Imogen pulled up the hood of her cloak, making herself completely invisible. "Off we go, then," she said. "Where to, do you think?"

"Hogwarts," said Maud.

George-as-Tony's mouth thinned a little with impatience. "We know _that_, Maud. But where do we Apparate?"

"Hogwarts," Maud repeated. "By the broom shed."

"You can't -" began George, but Imogen's disembodied voice interrupted him.

"Wait a minute. Maud, are you saying you think the Enemy's done something to the Anti-Apparation barrier around Hogwarts grounds? But those spells are incredibly dense and complex - it would take a team of trained wizards several weeks on site to take them down."

"Yes," said Maud. "I know. And I have good reason to suspect that a team of wizards _has_ been on site for several weeks, doing just that. How else do you account for the Enemy's forces reaching Hogwarts so quickly, without passing through Hogsmeade or otherwise being spotted?"

"But if You-Know-Who sent an advance team to Hogwarts," George argued, "they'd have been spotted by now, too. Unless they had invisibility cloaks, or -" He stopped short, his eyes - Tony's eyes - widening in comprehension. "They were working on the barrier from the _inside_."

"Draco Malfoy," said Maud quietly. "And a gang of other Slytherins. Severus warned me they were planning something big to show their support for Voldemort. What else could it be?"

George let out a sudden, vehement oath. "Malfoy! That little -"

"Enough," said Imogen sharply, sounding very like Glossop. "We don't have time for this. Maud, we'll test your theory: the broom shed it is. And if it turns out you're wrong, and we can't make it into the grounds, we'll go to the platform at Hogsmeade Station and walk up to the school from there. Agreed?"

Maud nodded. George, who was clenching and unclenching Tony's big hands as though preparing to throttle Draco with them, said between his teeth, "Yeah. Let's go."

Maud reached out and slipped her left hand into George's, suppressing a shudder at the feel of Tony's calluses against her skin. A second later, she felt another, invisible hand grip her right - a sensation hardly less disconcerting. She took a deep breath to steady herself, as Imogen subvocalised in her ear: _All together, now. One. Two. Three -_

They Disapparated.

#

_It worked, _said George's voice blankly - and it _was_ George's voice, in spite of the Polyjuice; apparently the Exaudio Charm didn't actually involve the speaker's vocal cords. _Maud, you were right._

Maud nodded, but without enthusiasm. They stood, as they had planned, behind the broom shed, well within Hogwarts grounds. To the east, the towers of Hogwarts Castle rose high against the cloud-feathered sky, windows glimmering in the light of the setting sun.

She turned slowly, making a survey of the land. The silence from the Quidditch pitch behind them suggested that if Voldemort's forces were indeed encamped at Hogwarts, they must be on the other side of the castle, or otherwise hidden from view. The latter would make sense; Voldemort probably would not want to show his hand until he was ready to begin the assault. Perhaps he and his forces were lurking in the forest - although, with those massive trees and tangled paths, it seemed a highly impractical place to hide an army...

Imogen's invisible hand came down on her shoulder, startling her. _Maud,_ she said. _Promise me that whatever happens, you won't try to come between Severus and the Enemy. You can't shield him, or fight for him. And if you try, you're very likely to ruin whatever chance he might have at saving himself._

_I know, _said Maud.

_Good. But one more thing - you'd better not fight us when we try to pull you out, either. You won't help Severus by dying with him._

_I know._

_Very good. _A deep breath._ Now, George..._

_You don't have to order me around, Imogen. I know what I'm supposed to do._

_No, I don't think you do. _Imogen's voice was firm. __When the Enemy tells you to push off, do it. And don't hang about on the sidelines, either. Forget about Maud -__

_Are you cracked?_

_Listen to me, George. Yes, I mean it: forget about Maud, and play Tony to the hilt as long as the Polyjuice holds out. Because the more trick potions you can get into the hands of those Death Eaters, the better chance we all have at getting out of this alive._

George said nothing, but the mutinous expression on his face spoke volumes. Imogen went on more gently,_ Don't worry, I'll call you back if I need your help. But if I can rescue Maud without involving you, so much the better._

_This wasn't what we agreed,_ he said, resentment clear in his voice.

_Yes, it was. We agreed not to let Maud go to Hogwarts alone, and we agreed to do everything in our power to keep her safe. And we might succeed, at that - but only if you stick to the plan. We don't have time to argue strategy, George. Just promise me you'll do what I ask._

Imogen spoke mildly, but the force behind her words was unmistakable: she outranked George, and they both knew it. If she gave him an order, he was bound by oath to obey. Nevertheless, it was not until Maud laid her hand on George's arm, silently pleading with him, that he relented. _All right, _he said, blowing out his breath in a frustrated sigh._ I'll do it. I - promise._

_Thank you, George._ Imogen sounded relieved. _Then let's go._

It seemed a very long walk away from the Quidditch stadium, up the sloping lawns toward the front entrance of Hogwarts Castle. Maud tried to keep close to George-as-Tony and walk stiffly, keeping her eyes a little unfocused, as though she were under Imperius; but when at last she rounded the corner and saw what lay on the castle's far side, she gave an involuntary gasp.

Voldemort's forces were arrayed, in plain sight, between Hogwarts and the forest. And there were _hundreds_ of them. Not only wizards and Dementors, as she had expected, but Dark creatures by the score - harpies, hags, and trolls - and even, to her horror, two giants, each of whom must have been a good twenty feet tall and whom she had not spotted before solely because they were sitting down.

A little man she did not recognise, whose right hand gleamed silver in the twilight, was pacing along the lines, his black cloak flapping behind him. When after several nervous strides he wheeled around again, he caught sight of George and Maud approaching, and his face relaxed in evident relief. He hurried up to them and spoke:

"Gamble! Where have you been? Our Master has been waiting for you."

For a minute George stared at the man, as though taken aback: then he recovered himself and said insouciantly, "Sorry about that, mate. Took me longer than I'd thought to get this one -" he jerked a thumb at the stiff and silent Maud - "away from her friends."

_I'll say, _remarked Imogen with dry amusement, and George's jaw tightened; she had clearly forgotten his injunction against running commentary.

Until now the little man had scarcely glanced at Maud; now he looked at her directly for the first time, and his eyes widened. "This -" he said, almost choking in disbelief, "_this_ is Severus Snape's lover?"

"Is she?" said George-as-Tony, with a convincing lack of interest. Tony had already told them, under the influence of Veritaserum, that he didn't know Snape personally.

_That's a compliment, if you like_, observed Imogen. _What did he expect, a gargoyle?_

Maud bowed her head, so that her hair fell about her face. _Imogen, please don't,_ she subvocalised urgently, moving her lips as little as possible, and the other woman fell silent.

"Don't really know why the Dark Lord wants her," George went on in the same indifferent tone. "Don't care, either. I'm just doing my job. So can we get on with it? Doing Imperius always gives me a bloody headache."

The hint of petulant complaint beneath the offhand manner was classic Tony, and Maud had to resist the urge to applaud. Certainly the little man seemed to have no suspicions about George's legitimacy, for he turned his back on them without hesitation and began walking down the sloping, shadow-streaked lawn, beckoning them to follow.

For hours now Maud had been bracing herself for the sight of Voldemort in the flesh, forcing herself to recall every detail of the ghastly avatar that haunted her memories. As they passed between the ranks of Voldemort's servants, heading toward an open, black-draped pavilion erected at the bottom of the slope, her thoughts took on even more grotesque proportions; by the time they reached the pavilion, she was trembling, and her throat was so tight she could hardly breathe. It was all she could do to remember what Snape had taught her, to push her betraying thoughts and feelings below the surface of her mind so that the Dark Lord might not see them.

The man with the silver hand entered first; he knelt, bowed his head, and murmured, "My lord, Gamble and the woman have arrived."

"Good," breathed a voice from the shadows. "Show them in, Wormtail... I grow impatient..."

She couldn't do it, she realised as George-as-Tony took her arm and led her into the pavilion; she simply couldn't look Voldemort in the eye. And mercifully, she didn't have to, because George, with an unctuous smoothness, dropped to his knees as Wormtail had done, and dragged her down with him.

"Master," he said.

Voldemort, Maud noticed distractedly, was wearing black leather boots. It might not be a bad idea to concentrate on them, instead. They were clearly visible beneath the hem of his robes, and as she gazed at them, she realised that the toes were scuffed and even slightly dirty. It had never occurred to her that an Evil Overlord's boots might need polishing, and the discovery gave her an obscure comfort.

"You are late, Gamble," said the high, cold voice she remembered. It was a bloodless sort of voice, with a faint hiss in the undertone. But it was also a good deal smaller and less resonant than the voice that had echoed through the Quidditch stadium nearly two years ago. "It is fortunate that you arrived just now... I was about to conclude that you had betrayed me..."

"Not a bit of it, my lord," said George-as-Tony rapidly, an edge of panic in his voice that might not have been entirely feigned. "I had to wait until the coast was clear before I took the girl, that's all. I've done my best for you, I swear."

"Then you will be rewarded for your faithfulness... if you have indeed been faithful. Stand up, Tony Gamble. Bring the girl to me."

George rose awkwardly, pulling Maud to her feet, and stepped closer to the dais where Voldemort was sitting. Maud swallowed hard against the resurgence of her fear, and when something moved past her feet with a dry rasp of scales, she almost cried aloud; there was an enormous _snake_ in the tent, raising its scaly head to gaze at her with cold, glittering eyes -

And ironically, it was that very shock which saved her. Because no matter how hideous the Enemy might be, he couldn't be any worse than that. She tore her eyes from the snake, and looked Voldemort in the face.

Repulsive he certainly was, with his pale, dead-looking skin and lipless gash of a mouth. His red eyes bored into hers, unblinking and pitiless as the snake's had been. Still, Voldemort was not half as terrible as the towering spectre that had gloated over her nightmares for the past sixteen months; he was only an ugly distortion of a man.

Fluidly the Dark Lord rose from his seat and stepped toward her. His skeletal hand flashed out and seized her by the chin, forcing her head up. It was all she could do to maintain her vague expression as he turned her face from one side to the other, inspecting her thoroughly but dispassionately, as though she were some exotic creature offered him for sale.

"You took her wand, of course?" he said to George-as-Tony.

"Er..." George had the wit to look sheepish. "No, actually. Forgot about it, in all the excitement." No doubt his first impulse had been to lie, but he must have realised that the risk of being caught was far too great.

"Fool." Voldemort's lips tightened. "The girl was raised by an Auror, trained by the Department of Secrets, and you never thought of disarming her?"

"Well, she _was_ under Imperius..."

"Do not weary me with your excuses, Gamble." His cold fingers slipped first into her left sleeve, then into her right. "Two wands," he murmured. "Typical Department of Secrets foolishness." He tossed the wands indifferently to the floor, and the great snake slithered over them, burying them beneath her pale coils. "Now," he said, his red eyes fixed on Maud's, "release her."

Maud barely heard George's answering mutter, but she recognised her cue. She allowed her distracted gaze to focus; then she staggered and choked back a little cry. It was a somewhat exaggerated performance, but it seemed to please Voldemort; one corner of his mouth twitched in a ghastly caricature of a smile.

"Tell me your name, girl," he commanded. Maud could feel his mind slither over hers, testing the surface of her thoughts, and she did not have to feign the tremor in her voice, or the shallow quickness of her breath, as she answered:

"Maud... Maud Moody."

_You are a still pond, Miss Moody..._

Even though it was only a memory, the sound of that familiar voice calmed her, as it had always done. And the subtle Occlumency she wove out of that stillness must have worked, for Voldemort's eyes narrowed before he spoke again:

"And who are you to my... possibly wilful... servant, Severus Snape?"

He wasn't certain of Severus's treachery, then: at least, not yet. If she could hide the truth from him... _Allow your fear to dominate, like a layer of ice upon the surface of your mental lake._ That, at least, was not difficult. "He - he was my Potions teacher at Hogwarts -"

"You lie." His hands framed her face, one long cold finger pressing against each temple, and the weight of his mind on hers increased. "Do not attempt to deceive me, foolish girl... _what is Snape to you_?"

Either her Occlumency skills were not as strong as they had once been, or he had good reason to know she was not telling him the whole truth. She gazed back at Voldemort helplessly, her thoughts churning several layers below the surface, and tried to figure out how much he really knew.

To convince the Dark Lord that there really was a relationship between Snape and Maud, rather than merely some fleeting love potion-induced affair, Muriel would have had only one real piece of evidence to offer: her glimpse of Maud's Patronus. That might not be exactly conclusive as far as Severus's feelings were concerned, but it certainly said something about Maud's, and to pretend otherwise might well prove her undoing. She lowered her head, brought a surge of confirming emotion to the surface, and said in a small, beaten voice, "I love him."

"Ah," breathed Voldemort, apparently satisfied. "And does he return your... _love?"_ His chill voice made a mockery of the word.

"Well," she replied slowly, suppressing her sudden exultation - Severus had anticipated this, she was sure of it - "I have never heard him say so."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed still further, and she saw his jaw tighten, as though he had sensed the literal truth of her answer and it had disconcerted him. But his voice, when he spoke, held only contempt: "Are you trying to tell me that you are nothing to him? I find that very hard to believe."

"Thank you," said Maud, and immediately regretted it, as Voldemort's cold hands slid down to her neck.

"Do not play games with me, girl," he hissed. "I can devise torments for you such as you cannot imagine, if you attempt to defy me." His fingers tightened on her throat. "Perhaps Severus's feelings are not quite so... sentimental as yours. But I doubt that he would be indifferent to your death, either."

"Are you planning to kill me?" Her voice cracked a little on the words.

He gave a bleak smile. "Only if it pleases me to do so. Submit to me, make no foolish attempts at resistance, and you may be spared - if I see no use in killing you. You _are_ a pureblood witch, after all, are you not?"

"Yes." She spoke the syllable flatly, trying not to show the revulsion she felt.

"Good. Then you may yet find a place in my new wizarding order... provided you act wisely."

He released her mind and body together and sank back into his seat, the great snake slithering up behind him and draping one heavy coil around his shoulders like a mantle. His gaze flicked dispassionately past her to the little man still hovering by the entrance. "Wormtail... now that Gamble and the woman are here, there is no more need for delay. Tell my Death Eaters... it is time."

"Master," said the man tremulously, "The Anti-Apparation barrier...?"

"Yes."

Wormtail bowed low and hurried out.

"As for you, Tony Gamble," Voldemort went on to the warily attentive George, "you have indeed done all that I asked... and I am not displeased. Join my forces now, and when this battle is done, you will be rewarded."

"Thank you, Master," said George-as-Tony. His voice sounded hoarse; this interview was obviously telling on his nerves.

"Leave us." Voldemort's fingers flicked the air in a gesture of dismissal. George hesitated for a fraction of an instant, then wheeled stiffly and walked out of the pavilion. Maud watched him trudging up the slope, his shoulders set with tension, and felt an ache of loss and loneliness that surprised her with its intensity. She had not realised until then how much it had meant to her to have George there, how much strength she had drawn simply from being aware of his presence. In that moment, silently but fervently, she wished him well.

_I'm still here, _said Imogen's voice in her ear. _Right by the entrance. Don't be afraid, Maud. You're doing wonderfully._

Maud wished she dared to subvocalise her thanks, but the Enemy's eyes were still upon her; so she only lowered her head, trusting Imogen would recognise it as an acknowledgement. A moment passed in silence before Voldemort spoke once more:

"Your beloved Severus has promised to deliver Harry Potter to me by sundown. If he does not, I will present you before the walls of Hogwarts and see if he changes his mind."

"And if he doesn't?" asked Maud, with some trepidation.

Voldemort's eyes glittered red. "Then you will be the first to die - but only the first of many. Because at that moment, my forces will begin the siege of Hogwarts. And when they have penetrated those few protective spells that still remain about the castle - as they assuredly will - they will kill every living being within, teachers and students alike, save for those few whose blood is pure and who have already vowed loyalty to me."

"Oh," said Maud faintly.

"Then at the last, when Hogwarts is a smouldering ruin, I will hang Harry Potter's lifeless body from the top of the Astronomy Tower for all the wizarding world to see." His mouth curled. "It is a thought which gives me... considerable pleasure."

_Lovely, _said Imogen with distaste. _Remind me not to call him if I ever need a baby-sitter._

Maud put her hands over her face - a natural reaction, given the horror of what Voldemort had just said - and mouthed, _Imogen, stop it!_

_Not until you stop taking him so seriously, _came the firm reply. _He's not half so confident as he makes out - or at least, he hasn't reason to be. I've just been feeling out the protective spells around Hogwarts Castle myself, and they're as strong as they ever were. Whatever your old schoolmate Draco and his nasty friends managed to do to the Anti-Apparation barrier, it only affected the grounds and not the school itself - so it's going to be a long, tough siege._

Maud took a deep breath and let her hands drop. Voldemort was looking at her, superior and amused. "Good," he said, his teeth gleaming in the shadows. "I see you are wise enough to fear me. Perhaps you may serve me yet. Nonetheless -" his voice sharpened - "this very moment the sun has gone down, and I see no sign of Harry Potter... or Severus Snape. So it would seem that at least one of my former servants has forgotten what little wisdom he once possessed."

He rose smoothly to his feet, the great snake sliding from his shoulders, and extended one long black-robed arm toward her. Maud flinched as his wand grazed her cheek, then drew a line down to the hollow of her throat, in a wordless but painfully imminent threat of violence.

"Very well," said Voldemort in a purring undertone. "Let us go and remind him."

#

As Maud walked with the Dark Lord up the slope toward Hogwarts Castle, the ranks of his forces parted like black water to let them pass. Though the sky was stained indigo at the horizon where the last fading glow of sunlight lingered, even that was darkening quickly to a more sombre hue, and in the blackness high above the first stars had begun to emerge. If not for the Death Eaters' lighted wands, illuminating their path like torches, it would have been difficult to see.

Though Voldemort strode by her side, he was not looking at her. Maud lowered her head so that her face was mostly hidden in her hair, and her lips shaped a rapid question: _Imogen, shouldn't the Ministry forces be here by now?_

I was thinking that myself,came the reluctant reply. _But even if they've figured out that they can Apparate straight to Hogwarts, it takes time to mobilise an army when they're scattered about the country. Don't forget either that the Ministry of Magic isn't exactly renowned for speed and efficiency, even with a few bright lights like your uncle helping them along; and none of us, not even Glossop, were expecting this to come quite so soon._

_Thank you,_ said Maud dryly, no longer caring how much she sounded like Snape._ That's very comforting._

_You haven't heard the worst of it, _George told them in a strained voice. _I just found out - the Death Eaters have restored the Anti-Apparation barrier._

There was a moment's silence, and then Imogen swore. _I'm an idiot, _she said._ I should have seen that coming._

_Yeah, well, so should I. But it's too late now. You OK, Maud?_

_At the moment. Are you?_

_Yeah. I managed to pawn off a few of these potions, though I told everybody not to use them until the fighting started. I'll have to take another dose of Polyjuice before long, though._

He sounded less than enthusiastic about the prospect, and Maud could hardly blame him. She was about to ask whether he had seen Muriel yet - surely she must be here somewhere - but he cut her off:_ Somebody's coming. Got to go..._ His voice faded.

Voldemort stopped at the crest of the slope, looking back at Maud. "Come," he said, and beckoned her with a short, imperious gesture. Knowing it would be pointless to disobey, Maud stepped up beside the Dark Lord as he turned to face the walls of Hogwarts, pointed his wand at his own throat and intoned, _"Sonorus."_

_Here we go, _Imogen said resignedly in Maud's ear.

"Severus Snape!" The hissing words shivered through the darkness, as Voldemort addressed the silent walls in the vast and terrible voice Maud remembered from the League Cup semi-final. "This is your final chance. Give me the Potter boy, and then... and _only_ then... you and those with you may live to see tomorrow's dawn."

Maud held her breath, the blood thudding through her ears. Severus must be able to hear those words - no doubt everyone else in Hogwarts had heard them as well. But a long minute passed, and there was no reply.

"So... not only a traitor, but a coward as well," said Voldemort contemptuously. "I expected better things from you, Severus. After all, you did help my faithful Slytherins to remove the Anti-Apparation spells around Hogwarts and allow my army entrance..."

_What? _exploded George's voice in Maud's ear. __That slimy, treacherous -__

_Don't be a fool, _Imogen snapped back. _Can't you see that's exactly what the Enemy wants - to drive a wedge between Severus and the few allies he has left? Of course Snape helped Draco and the others: he couldn't have done anything else without giving himself away. But I'll lay you fifty Galleons that Snape is the reason Voldemort could only get his army into the grounds, and not the school as well. Are you going to take that bet?_

A moment's hesitation from George, and then, with a touch of resentment,_ No._ Maud closed her eyes in relief as Voldemort continued:

"Do those who stand at your side truly know you for what you are? Severus Snape, one of my own sworn Death Eaters, who until this moment had proven himself most diligent and useful in my service... who deceived that old fool Dumbledore into trusting him, all the while reporting to me and doing my bidding... who even conspired with me to deliver his master into my hands, on the promise that in good time I would make him Head of Hogwarts in Dumbledore's place..."

From one of the higher windows in the castle came a strangled cry of fury and outrage, in a voice eerily similar to George's; by the faint radiance of the Death Eaters' wands, Maud could just make out Voldemort's smile. "Yes," he said. "And when you had proven your worth by betraying Dumbledore, I kept my word to you, did I not, Severus? Eliminating McGonagall, your one remaining rival, by imprisoning her in her feline form... an amusing torment that you yourself suggested. Oh, indeed, you have been ruthless." He gave a cold laugh. "And yet... all the while you harboured two secret weaknesses. Your pathetic sense of obligation to Harry Potter... and _this."_

His hand whipped out with the speed of a striking snake, seizing Maud by the arm and wrenching her forward. Taken off-guard, she tripped and fell sprawling at his feet, as Voldemort swept his wand through the air and cried out, _"Lumos maximus!"_

Immediately a burst of dazzling radiance erupted around them, eclipsing the lesser glow of the Death Eaters' wands and lighting up the ground for a hundred feet in each direction. The front ranks of the Dark Lord's army blinked and shielded their eyes, as Voldemort raised his wand again and said, _"Amplifico!"_

The air in front of him shimmered, and Maud nearly cried out as the walls of Hogwarts zoomed toward them, suddenly grown to enormous size. Only belatedly did she realise that Voldemort's spell had not actually brought them closer to the school towering above, but merely magnified their view. Now she could see the faces of the students crowded into every available window, their open mouths and staring eyes. She recognised Ron Weasley, his freckled face livid with anger; and caught a fleeting glimpse of an anxious-looking Hermione behind him. Harry, however, was nowhere to be seen.

At the top of the Astronomy Tower - for even its considerable height was illumined by the power of Voldemort's spell - stood a group of familiar adults, grim-faced and silent: the teachers of Hogwarts. And with a lurch of her heart Maud recognised the dark figure at the forefront, his hands braced upon the parapet as he gazed down dispassionately at the scene revealed beneath.

He was thinner than she remembered, his eyes blue-shadowed and the lines in his face carved deep; at that moment, in spite of the oil-black hair that bore no hint of grey, he looked considerably older than his thirty-nine years. His gaze met Maud's, or seemed to, but the darkness within them was inscrutable.

"Your lover is unharmed - at present," said Voldemort, his red eyes glowing menace. "Bring Harry Potter to me, and I will spare her life. Refuse, and Maud Moody will die in slow and writhing agonies..." His wand swung down to point at her. _"Crucio."_

The pain was instant, shocking, and wholly unbearable. Her whole body convulsed with it, every nerve laid bare to a new and exquisite agony, and her ears rang with her own desperate shrieking as she clawed at the ground, trying futilely to escape. It was like being flayed with a hot knife, or boiled alive in oil - it was too much - she would go mad if it did not stop -

_"Stop!"_

Severus's cry sounded as raw as she felt. Voldemort lowered his wand, and the torture stopped, leaving Maud sobbing with relief. Imogen's babbled apologies and George's furious swearing overlapped in her ears: at first she could hardly separate their voices, but at last they became clear:

_\- sorry, Maud, so sorry - I didn't see it coming - I couldn't get to you in time -_

_\- it, that is bloody well it! Sod your orders, Imogen, I'm coming over and we're going to get her out of there right now -_

_No, _mouthed Maud weakly against the grass. _Stay where you are. He's made his point; he won't need to do it again. I'm all right. _Nerves still shrilling with remembered pain, she pushed herself awkwardly onto knees and elbows. __Just... wait.__

_Maud -_

_Please, _she said. _Trust me._

Silence. She blinked back the tears from her eyes and sat back on her heels, looking up just in time to see Snape step up onto the edge of the parapet with broom in hand.

"Severus, no!" cried a voice from behind him - it sounded like McGonagall's, although that was surely impossible - but Snape ignored it.

He swung his leg over the broomstick and pushed off, robes fluttering like dark wings as he glided inexorably down, past the students gaping at him from the windows, through the harsh bubble of light and the shivering rectangle of magnified air, to land neatly at the foot of the Astronomy Tower. With a brusque, dismissive gesture he tossed the broom aside, took a step forward - and drew his wand.

He moved swiftly, but Voldemort was quicker still. _"Expelliarmus!"_ he hissed, and Severus was blasted off his feet by a dazzling flash of scarlet. The wand flew from his grasp; Voldemort stretched out his hand almost languidly and caught it. "You appear to be in a position of checkmate, Severus. Are you prepared to... reconsider?"

Snape rose with difficulty to his feet and stood there swaying a little. He wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand, said through clenched teeth, "If you want Potter, you can bloody well go and find him. Because _I don't know where he is."_

Voldemort laughed, a chillingly humourless sound. "Slippery to the last, Severus... No doubt what you say is true, but only because you instructed him to hide where neither you nor I might find him. Still, it makes no difference. I _will_ have Harry Potter, with or without your aid, and before this night is over, Hogwarts will fall to me... _Nox."_

The radiant dome around them vanished. _"Quietus,"_ said the Dark Lord, then continued at merely human volume, "Let us bargain, you and I. You say you cannot offer me the Potter boy... what then will you give me for the life of your lover?"

Snape was silent, his sallow face looking paler than ever in the moonlight. He looked down at Maud, expressionless; she raised her head and met his gaze steadily. Her lips framed words too silent for even Imogen or George to hear: _I love you_. _I believe in you. Do what you must._

"Do you know," said Severus at last, still looking at Maud, "I did have a number of suggestions in mind. Some of them might even have interested you. But I find... for some reason... that I am weary of lies." He turned back to the Dark Lord with a slight, self-mocking smile. "And even if I had managed to convince you that I would let you in to Hogwarts or give you Dumbledore's secret recipe for immortality in exchange for Maud's life, it would have made no difference. You never had any intention of letting her live."

"No," said Voldemort softly. "Of course not. Why would I, when the sight of her death will cause you more pain than any mere physical torture I might devise?" His red eyes gleamed with anticipation. "But that, of course, will be only the beginning of the torments I have in mind for you, Severus..."

With a deafening bang, a tangle of whiplike cords shot out of the end of Voldemort's wand and wrapped around Snape; within seconds, he was bound fast. No longer able to keep his balance, he teetered and crashed to the ground, eyes blazing with helpless fury.

"Now," breathed the Dark Lord with satisfaction. "Watch closely..." And with slow deliberation he turned and lowered his wand at Maud.

_Pull her out, Imogen! _George shouted.

_I'm - _began Imogen, but whatever she was about to say was cut off, as a hoarse cry rang out from the ranks of Voldemort's army:

_"Ware Aurors!"_

Something came whistling through the night and smashed against the base of the tower; there was a sound like a thunderclap, and a massive fireball erupted into the air. Maud looked up automatically to see where the potion-bomb had come from - and saw, with a surge of incredulous joy, that the sky was full of pale, swooping figures mounted on broomsticks. She had barely registered their presence, however, when another fireball bloomed in the darkness behind Voldemort, illuminating a second wave of white-robed Ministry fighters marching across the lawn.

_How? _asked George incredulously.__How did they do it?__

_I don't know, _said Imogen, with equal astonishment, and at that same moment -

"For Hogwarts!" someone shrilled from above.

"No!" shouted the same female voice that had tried to stop Snape earlier. "Filius - your heart -" But as before, her protests were of no use. Tiny little Flitwick, the Charms professor, came zooming down toward them on a broomstick that looked three sizes too big for him. He pointed his wand at Voldemort and cried, _"Lethargus!"_

The Coma Curse was beautifully cast; Flitwick had not been Duelling Champion in his youth for nothing. Nevertheless, the Dark Lord's reflexes were faster. He whirled away from the spell before it could hit him, swung up his wand and snapped out, _"Incendio!"_

Flitwick managed to dodge the spell himself, but his broom was not so fortunate: the twigs burst into flame. He leaped off and tumbled to the ground a few feet away from Maud, so small and light that the twelve-foot fall could barely trouble him. Or so Maud thought, until she saw him grimace, and realised that his wand arm was bent at an odd angle.

Voldemort moved so quickly that no one had time to react. _"Avada Kedavra!"_ he hissed, and with a surging, irrevocable flash of green light, Flitwick gasped, choked, and abruptly ceased to struggle.

Maud threw herself at Flitwick, fumbling for a pulse, all the while knowing it was futile. No one survived the Killing Curse. She had barely confirmed that he was dead when a ragged chorus of angry cries burst out from the tower, and more members of the Hogwarts teaching staff took to the air. With amazement Maud recognised McGonagall in her feline form clinging to the back of Professor Sinistra's broom as they swooped down; perhaps that voice _had_ been her, after all...

But the incoming teachers were quickly intercepted as the front ranks of the Dark Lord's servants surged forward to engage them. Maud looked around wildly as more explosions and flashes of light lit up the sky. The well-ordered ranks of Voldemort's army had shattered as the Ministry forces poured in, and now it was wand-to-wand combat nearly everywhere she looked. Harpies flew shrieking over the battlefield, plucking up unsuspecting Aurors in their talons and dropping them again; the two giants stomped and swung their clubs; and in the midst of the fray she even caught a fleeting glimpse of Alastor Moody, roaring curses and blasting Death Eaters left and right, his grizzled hair flying as he moved with the speed and agility of a much younger man.

Imogen must have seen it too, because she let out a breath and said almost wistfully, _Oh, I _do_ fancy your uncle, Maud._

OK, said George's voice with distaste, _that was way too much inform -_

His words ended in a sudden, chilling silence. _George? _asked Maud, and then, with redoubled urgency,_ George!_

But there was no answer.

Dread wrenched at Maud's stomach, and she thought she might vomit. She bent her head, breathing shallowly. _Imogen,_ she mouthed. _Forget the plan. Forget me. Just find George!_

_Maud -_

_You saw what happened to Flitwick. If Voldemort decides to kill me, there's not a thing you can do to stop it. But George might still have a chance. _When Imogen did not answer at once, she added desperately,_ Please, Imogen. Let at least one of us have a happy ending. _She swallowed back the bitterness in her throat. _It's too late for mine._

There was a long, painful pause. Then:

_I'll come back as soon as I can, _said Imogen softly.

Maud closed her eyes in mingled sorrow and relief. Then without warning a hand seized her by the hair, dragging her to her feet; she gasped and staggered as Voldemort released her contemptuously, took a step back, and levelled his wand.

"Master, _no!"_ came a desperate shriek from behind him, and the Dark Lord turned, startled. A woman, painfully thin, her cheeks sunken and her eyes like bruises in her haggard face, scrambled up the slope and flung herself at his feet. "My lord... I beg you... you _promised..._"

"Ah, yes." He looked down at the wretched figure, surprise yielding to amusement. "I had almost forgotten... But why not? The end is the same." He stepped back with a mocking flourish. "By all means, Muriel... claim your reward."

Maud was shocked. Had he really said _Muriel?_ This ragged creature grovelling so pathetically before Voldemort was the same as the sleek, contemptuous girl she remembered from Hogwarts?

To say that Azkaban, even without the Dementors, had not been kind to Muriel Groggins would have been a massive understatement. Still, the passionate hatred in the small, feverishly bright eyes that met Maud's was unmistakable. She rose slowly to her feet, hand clenched around her wand. "Master... I want to _fight_ her..."

"I have no time for that. Burn her, or rot her, or tear her limb from limb, as it pleases you... but do not waste my time on frivolous duelling."

Muriel flushed, subdued. "Yes, great lord."

"Groggins, isn't it?" came Snape's cold voice from the ground. Even disarmed, tied hand and foot and lying on his side, there was a kind of menace about him, and Maud found herself recalling with sudden clarity his overwhelming presence in the classroom. "Toadying to the Dark Lord for the chance to murder a helpless woman. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but you've finally sunk even lower than your Potions grade."

"Shut it, slimeball," Muriel spat back, with something like her old spirit. "You're as bad as she is - worse - sneering at the rest of us for being weak and soft, while you made love to one of your own students, you hypocrite -"

Whatever else she had intended to say was lost, however, as a shout rang out from the darkness and interrupted her:

"Master! We have found him - _Harry Potter!"_

It was Wormtail, clutching his side and gasping for breath, his silver hand glittering in the moonlight. A sheen of sweat plastered his thin hair to his forehead, and there was a dark smudge on one cheek that might have been blood. "Come quickly, Master - before he can escape -"

Voldemort's face lit with a terrible smile. He turned to Snape. "It would seem that you have failed in _every_ respect, Severus."

Desperately Maud looked about in all directions, searching for someone - anyone - who might intervene: but the battle was fierce, and everyone she recognised as being on their side was already fully occupied fighting for their own lives. She and Severus had their backs to the wall, and their only sure ally - Imogen - was gone; there seemed no longer any possible hope of rescue.

"Not only will Potter be mine in spite of your efforts to hide him," Voldemort gloated over Snape, "the lover you would have given your life to protect is about to die as well... though unfortunately you will not live to witness it. Alas, I cannot give your execution the attention it deserves... but I dare not leave you alive..." He levelled his wand.

"No!" screamed Maud, throwing herself at Voldemort, but Muriel grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. The Dark Lord, his burning red eyes fixed on Snape, did not even appear to notice. Without hesitation, his thin lips shaped the words that had echoed in Maud's nightmares for the past two years:

_"Avada Kedavra."_


	11. And Makes Me End

There was a flash of livid green light, then a beating rush of wind, as though the Angel of Death had passed over. And when the glow subsided, Severus Snape lay motionless, his dark hair spilled out across the grass. His eyes were shut, his face pale and stern and unnaturally still, like the marble effigy of some great but little-loved king. He looked, thought Maud distractedly, very dead.

Someone made a sound, a long inarticulate wail of grief. Someone else laughed. Maud sank to her knees, barely even feeling the pain as Muriel twisted her arm up behind her. She took vague notice, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Voldemort had just made some parting remark - though what it was, or to whom it was directed, she had no idea. Nor did she care. It was difficult to care about anything, just now.

That keening noise was beginning to be irksome, however. Maud was about to open her mouth and tell whoever it was to be quiet; then she realised with dim surprise that her mouth was already open, and the sound was coming out of it. She was just wondering whether it would be possible for her to stop when Muriel wrenched her around and slapped her across the face. The cry broke off.

"Thank you," said Maud unsteadily, wiping her bleeding mouth. She rose with difficulty to her feet and looked about her. The bulk of the battle had moved northward, onto more level ground; but judging from the shouts and intermittent explosions, there was still a good deal of fighting going on nearby. The darkness sizzled with curses, the sky above the battlefield flaring red and green and blue by turns. By that fitful light she caught a glimpse of Voldemort striding away across the lawn, not skirting the battle but cutting a swath through the thick of it, blasting his enemies aside with scornful ease. Wormtail scuttled, cringing, in his wake.

Muriel must have seen where she was looking, because she let go of Maud's arm and gave a cracked-sounding giggle. "Isn't he splendid? He's going to kill Potter, you know." She pointed her wand at Maud's ribs, poked her with it almost playfully. "Just like I'm going to kill you."

Maud looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment. Then, without a word, she walked over to where Severus lay and knelt down on the grass beside him. A strand of hair had fallen across his face; she brushed it back, then leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

"Eurgh," said Muriel, making a face. "Get away from him."

"No," replied Maud with unnatural calm. "You'll just have to kill me here."

"Over his dead body? How appropriate." Muriel giggled again. "All right, then, since you insist... _Accio Maud Moody's wand!_"

Maud looked up, startled, as her wands - both of them - came flying out of the darkness into the other witch's outstretched hand. "I _told_ him I wanted to fight you," Muriel said with a hint of petulance, and tossed one of the wands at Maud.

It stopped in mid-air.

"Sorry," said Imogen's disembodied voice, "but she's got a prior engagement. You'll just have to fight me, instead." She pulled off the invisibility cloak and threw it behind her, then dropped Maud's spare wand on top of it. "Take them and get out of here, Maud. I'll handle this."

"But George -"

"George is fine," Imogen said briskly, keeping her eyes and her wand steady on Muriel. "He just happened to be too close to someone casting _Finite Incantatem_ and lost the Exaudio link, that's all." With deliberate movements she pushed up her sleeves, and although her back was turned to Maud, there was no mistaking the feral smile in her voice. "Hullo, Miss Groggins. I've _so_ been looking forward to meeting you again..."

"Get stuffed, you frowsy old tart," snarled Muriel. "This is between Maud and me."

"I'm afraid not, m'dear," said Imogen pleasantly. "The problem is entirely your own - it just happens to have been Maud's misfortune to get in your way." Her voice hardened. "Well, now _I'm_ getting in the way. Deal with it."

"Imogen," protested Maud, "I can't let you -"

"Maud, if you don't take that cloak and get yourself to safety right now, I'm going to Banish you up a tree." Imogen's voice was firm. "This is a direct order. _Go!"_

There was no point in hesitating further. Maud snatched up the invisibility cloak and flung it about her shoulders. With a swift pass of her wand she freed Snape's bound hands and feet; then she said _"Levo,"_ and lifted his now barely perceptible weight from the ground, letting the folds of the cloak fall over him as well as herself. They vanished.

Muriel let out a savage oath. _"Reducto!"_ she shouted, pointing her wand at the place where Maud had been.

_"Ancile," _interjected Imogen swiftly. The curse bounced off the air before it could reach its target, exploded against the castle wall. "Stop that, naughty girl," she added with a note of reproach. "I told you, she's off-limits... _Pregravo!"_

As Maud hurried away down the slope, cradling Severus's limp body against her, the sound of Imogen and Muriel's voices snapping out curses and counter-curses echoed after her for what seemed a very long time. She paused at the bottom of the hill and glanced back, but all she could see were two indistinct figures surrounded by flashes of orange and purple light.

_Oh, be well, Imogen, _she wished fervently. If Maud could have done any good by staying, she would have, but she knew she could only be a hindrance to Imogen now. In her emaciated and half-mad state, Muriel was not likely to win this duel; but she would fight like a rabid Jarvey until she went down, and Imogen would need all her wits and concentration to keep herself unharmed. So the best thing Maud could do was keep out of the way until it was over.

Invisible, noiseless, Maud skirted the edge of the battle, side-stepping the motionless forms of fallen Aurors and Death Eaters, looking for a safe place to lay Severus down. There was no use going up to Hogwarts Castle: the doors were barred with magic as much as oak and iron, and would not open to anyone now. Hagrid's hut, dark and empty, was still behind enemy lines. The greenhouses had been smashed to bits in the first assault, and now offered neither safety nor shelter. Which meant there was only one place left, and she was looking at it now: the forest.

Ironic, she thought as her feet moved automatically forward, taking her beneath the deeper shadow of the towering, ancient trees, that the last time she had passed through this forest, Snape had been with her then as well. That time it had been winter, he was weak and injured, and her greatest fear had been that he might die before she could get him to shelter. Now it was summer, and the man she held in her arms had not a visible mark on him, but the situation was infinitely worse.

The sheltered space between the trees in which Maud stopped several minutes later was not the same clearing in which she had found Snape lying two and a half years before - that one was too deep in the forest, and too far off the track, for her to seek out now. But there were thorn-bushes about this clearing, too, and like the other it appeared to be reasonably free of roots and underbrush.

She could put Severus down here, she thought, and cast a Shielding Spell over him; he would be safe, then, and she could return to the battle. Not to fight - at least, not unless she had no other choice - but to help the wounded. The Ministry must have a field hospital set up somewhere: probably to the north-west of Hogwarts Castle, since that was the direction from which their ground forces had come. The Quidditch pitch, with its encircling walls and sheltering stands, seemed the most likely place.

Maud stooped and laid Severus down on the grass, folding his arms across his breast. He had a quiet dignity about him, she thought. In fact, he even looked a little bit like Dumbledore now - albeit a clean-shaven and much younger Dumbledore, in an uncommonly serious mood. She felt sure that Severus would have been pleased by that. _If there is anything good in me, _he had told her once (it seemed a very long time ago, now),_ I owe it to him..._

So many memories. Maud sat back on her heels, gazing at the motionless body of her lover. The man who had saved her life as a child; the man who had become her mentor and her truest friend; the man she would have married, had the Killing Curse not come between them. Her eyes searched his face, that still white face with its closed eyes, and part of a poem she had once heard came back to her unbidden:

_Forgive me,_   
_If you are not living, _   
_If you, beloved, my love, if you have died, _   
_All the leaves will fall on my breast, _   
_It will rain upon my soul night and day,_   
_My feet will want to march toward where you sleep, _   
_But I shall go on living..._

That was, after all, what Uncle Alastor had warned her she might have to do; and she had taken him at his word. "Forgive me," she whispered, and touched Severus's hand, and rose to cast the Shielding Spell so that she might leave.

Then she saw the eyes.

Green eyes, luminous in the night: some wild creature, perhaps even a Dark creature, drawn by the scent of death. For the first time anger rose in Maud, and she reached for her wand; but then the eyes blinked, and a familiar voice said, "Thank goodness I've found you, Miss Moody."

It was Professor McGonagall.

Maud stepped back, startled, as the tabby cat leaped down from an overhanging branch and landed lightly in the clearing. "Don't be alarmed," she said, in the crisp yet kindly tones Maud remembered so well. "You're still invisible - but it takes more than an invisibility cloak to fool a cat. I followed your scent, and Severus's, from the castle." She padded over to Snape, sniffed his face. "What happened to him?"

"Voldemort," said Maud, not wanting to elaborate further. "He hit him with the Killing Curse."

McGonagall's head jerked up in a startled, very un-feline movement. "He _what?_ Oh no, my dear, no, he couldn't possibly."

"I was there," said Maud, her voice raw with conflicting emotions. "I saw it happen. I saw Voldemort point his wand at Severus, and I heard him speak the words." She was shaking, now. "Believe me, I am _not_ mistaken."

"But -" McGonagall looked at her, eyes wide with dismay. "You mean all this time, you've believed that Severus was... dead?"

Maud was about to say, or shout, _Don't you understand? He _is_ dead!_ But then she realised what McGonagall must be trying to say, and her legs folded under her. She sat down hard on the grass next to Snape, the blood thundering in her ears. It couldn't be... it wasn't possible... she had seen it happen... and after what had happened with Flitwick, she had known there was no point checking for signs of life...

"Trust me, Miss Moody," said McGonagall very gently. "The human eye and mind can be fooled any number of ways, but a cat's nose never lies."

Maud looked down into McGonagall's compassionate green gaze, feeling the tears well up to overflowing, the ice around her heart crack and melt into agonising warmth. She wanted to say something, but there were no words that could possibly express the turbulence within her. So in the end she only bowed her head and closed her eyes, as McGonagall finished in a voice barely more than a whisper:

"It's true, my dear. Severus is alive."

#

The Ministry had set up their field hospital on the Quidditch pitch, just as Maud had expected. Nothing had prepared her, however, for how busy it would be.

There were at least fifty cots set up, and every one of them was full. Harassed-looking Healers hurried from one patient to the next with scarcely a pause. Meanwhile, injured witches and wizards lay moaning softly, or rolled their eyes and struggled against the Restraining Spells that held them; a house-elf sat sobbing on the end of her cot, cradling her withered hand; and even a few students could be seen, lying still and silent on the grass between the goal-posts.

"We _warned_ them not to leave the castle," said McGonagall sorrowfully, looking down at the motionless students. "Severus was right: we should have sent all of them through the tunnel to Hogsmeade, not just the ones who weren't of age."

"You mean you were able to evacuate some of them?" Maud looked at her in surprise. "You had that much warning before Voldemort's army arrived?"

The cat nodded. "Just barely enough. He Who -" She stopped, drew a breath, and her head came up with a determination that was very McGonagall. "Voldemort, rather, summoned Severus to him early this morning and told him the plan. Severus agreed to co-operate, of course; but as soon as he returned to Hogwarts, he called all the teachers together, and we did the best we could to prepare."

"Then -" Maud hesitated. "You already knew about Severus."

McGonagall did not have to ask what she meant. "I did, yes. We were both members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, so I knew he had gone back to Voldemort's camp as a spy. But more than that: after He - I mean, Voldemort - imprisoned me in my Animagus form, I spent quite a bit of time with Severus. He worked very hard on my behalf, not only to preserve my human intellect, but also to restore my power of speech. And as he worked, he... talked. Not very much, especially where you were concerned - as you know, Severus has always been a very private man - but enough."

"I'm glad," said Maud softly. "He needed to talk to someone." She bent and laid Snape down beside the smallest of the students, a skinny boy with mousy hair and a faint look of surprise on his face. Surely it was impossible, she thought, that a tiny creature like that could be seventeen.

"Oh, that child," sighed McGonagall, who had obviously noticed Maud's perplexity. "If I ever thought the Weasley twins were notorious for getting into trouble..."

So the boy _was_ younger, then. No doubt he had hidden when his classmates were sent away, or sneaked back into the school afterward. Maud touched the boy's neck, then his chest. Like Snape, he showed no visible injuries, but his pulse was abnormally slow, and his breathing so shallow as to be scarcely perceptible. Frowning a little, she checked the other students, and found that their condition was the same.

"Madam Pomfrey," she said, straightening up and turning to address the witch hurrying along the row of cots behind them, "do you know what happened to these students?"

Pomfrey started violently, and nearly dropped the steaming cup of potion she was carrying. "Great Merlin!" she gasped.

"Oh, sorry," said Maud, and pulled off the invisibility cloak.

"Miss Moody!" Pomfrey was astonished. "What are you doing here?"

"She came with me, Poppy," said McGonagall, from the ground. "We've brought you a new patient."

For a moment the school nurse looked blank; then she followed McGonagall's gaze to where Snape lay, and her eyes went wide. "The Headmaster! He's _alive?"_

"Yes, but we haven't been able to revive him," said Maud. _And what if you can't?_ said a voice in her mind, but she pushed the treacherous thought aside and continued: "That was why I was asking whether you knew what had happened to these students. It might give us some idea of what to do next."

"We don't know exactly what happened to them," said Pomfrey, quickly handing the cup of potion to a Healer passing by. "Wiggins, give this to the house-elf, please." Then she turned back to Maud and McGonagall and continued, "We found them outside the stadium, shortly after He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers came through on their way to -" She broke off, obviously distressed, and they all knew what she could not bring herself to say.

"Harry is still alive," said McGonagall firmly. "Voldemort would certainly have announced it by now, if he were not. So until we hear otherwise, Poppy, we must not give up hope."

It was strange to hear those brisk, commanding words coming from a cat, but Pomfrey seemed to have no difficulty taking them seriously. "Yes, of course." She straightened up a little. "Please excuse me - I must get back to my patients. But, Miss Moody, if you do think of anything that might help the children and Headmaster Snape..."

"We'll let you know," said McGonagall. "Thank you, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and hurried off.

Maud and McGonagall stood a while in silence, looking down at the pale, unmoving figures on the grass. Then Maud said abruptly, "Professor Flitwick."

McGonagall blinked, and gave a very human-sounding sniff. "What about Filius?"

"When he went to attack Voldemort, you tried to stop him. You said... something about his heart?"

"Oh. Yes." The green eyes dimmed a little, and lowered. "The dear man, he was so brave, but... his heart was very weak, and no magic could cure it. It was the reason he took up teaching, you know. With his skills he could have been a great Auror, but the stress would have killed him."

_His heart... The stress..._

The words resonated in Maud's mind, striking an unexpected chord. "Maybe," she said slowly, "that's what _did _happen."

"I beg your pardon?"

Maud was on to something now, she felt sure of it. "We'd have to examine him to know for certain, but I'm beginning to think that it was not Avada Kedavra that killed Professor Flitwick. It was shock that stopped his heart - not the spell itself."

McGonagall's tufted brows shot up. "An interesting theory." She sat back on her haunches, her head tilted a little to one side, considering. "Do you mean to say that not only Severus, but these students as well..."

"...survived the Killing Curse. Yes. Either they were protected somehow -"

"Impossible." McGonagall shook her head. "You know your magical theory as well as I do: there _is_ no protection against Avada Kedavra."

"True," Maud admitted resignedly. "Then... the problem must be with Voldemort. Something wrong with his wand, or his power is weakening, or -"

She stopped suddenly. _His power._ How could she have forgotten? She knew her magical theory, but she also knew her magical history. And the history books told quite clearly of a time when Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse against a defenceless victim - and failed. All because, in his arrogance and his hate, he had forgotten an ancient magic far more powerful than his own...

Was it possible that seventeen years after that night at Godric's Hollow, Voldemort had made the same error again? But this time, in such a way as not to realise at once - or even now - that his murderous intentions had been thwarted by an act of love and self-sacrifice even greater than Lily Potter's had been. A sacrifice prompted this time not by desperate impulse, but deliberate intent -

_(even in death, he played like a master)_

Not decided upon at the last moment, but anticipated weeks, even months in advance -

_(the weary, faraway look in his gaze, that last night at Hogwarts)_

A sacrifice that could have been avoided, but was willingly offered nonetheless -

_(I warned him - pleaded with him - begged him to let me take Polyjuice and go in his place)_

And not just for the love of one person this time, but for many, including (_only two people have ever loved me)_ Severus Snape...

Eighteen months ago, Voldemort had threatened to kill everyone in Hogwarts with Nundu's breath if its Headmaster did not surrender, and in response to that threat Albus Dumbledore had yielded up his life. It now appeared that sacrifice had not been in vain.

But on the other hand, if Dumbledore's death really had protected the teachers and students of Hogwarts from Voldemort's power, why hadn't the Killing Curse rebounded from Flitwick, or Snape, or the others, as it had from the infant Harry? Why hadn't Voldemort been destroyed by the backlash of his own spell the very first time he cast it, let alone the fifth or sixth time?

Well, nearly everything else about Dumbledore's sacrifice had been different from Lily Potter's, so perhaps this was different, too. Perhaps because he had died with many people in his thoughts, the effect had been more spread out. That would explain why Severus and the others had fallen into this trance-like state - alive, but still in need of revival. As for Voldemort, perhaps he _had_ been affected each time he cast the curse, but in so subtle and gradual a way as not to realise it. In which case, the consequences of his actions might well catch up to him soon - or at least Maud fervently hoped so.

She turned and looked back down the pitch, at the lines of cots and the white-robed figures bending over them. The sounds of battle still echoed in the distance, and flares of power lit the sky. She heard a cry from beyond the stands - _"The giants! The giants!"_ \- but whether that meant help or doom, she did not know.

McGonagall was looking up at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Maud shook her head, and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile: she was still too unsure of her theory about Dumbledore and the Killing Curse to want to share it just yet.

"I think," she said, "I'm going to see if Madam Pomfrey could use my help."

#

The last few months in the St. Mungo's lab with Tony had steeled Maud to the challenge of working hard under pressure. It had been good preparation, she realised, for tonight. Pomfrey had put her to work brewing up more healing and restorative potions - there never seemed to be enough - and every time Maud finished a batch, she took some over and tried it out on Severus and the students. She cast charms over them, as well: spells to restore strength and energy, spells to take away dreams, spells of waking and reviving. Nothing worked.

Meanwhile, more casualties were brought in. A young witch with a terribly burned face, a little wizard whose legs had been shattered. Another student who could not be revived. Four people died in spite of the Healers' best efforts, and were respectfully levitated off their cots so the living could take their place.

Outside the stadium, the sounds of battle grew louder and fiercer, and a great deal of stamping and roaring could be heard. But so could a large number of weirdly high-pitched voices, squeaking out things like "We is fighting for Harry Potter!" and "Bad Dark wizard! Take _that!"_ And once she thought she heard Hermione Granger's voice, shaken between tears and laughter, saying "Oh, Dobby - oh, _Ron_ -"

Maud desperately wanted to go out and look for George and Imogen, but she knew she was needed here, that lives might depend upon her. So she kept her head down and worked, grinding herbs and chopping beetles (they had to be freshly chopped, or their potency would be lost) and stirring her cauldrons until, what seemed like hours later, she heard a familiar deep, rasping voice:

"Get out of the way, curse you! Stop gawping like an idiot and bring me a cot!"

Maud turned swiftly, to see her Uncle Alastor limping into the stadium. His grizzled hair was matted with blood on one side, there was a purple bruise high on his cheekbone, and his wooden leg and the hem of his robes were blackened, as though he had walked through fire. Apart from that, he seemed in quite reasonable health - it was the figure in his arms that commanded attention.

Her green robes were in tatters, and her normally sleek brown hair was a wild tangle. She breathed in shallow, desperate gasps, her face pressed against Mad-Eye's shoulder, obviously in terrible pain.

"Gut-Wrencher Curse," growled Moody, as Pomfrey and another medic hurried up. He stooped awkwardly and lowered his burden onto the cot. "Did what I could to straighten things out, but she's bleeding inside - stomach and intestines. You'd best get to work on her _now."_

"Imogen," breathed Maud. "Uncle -" and as Mad-Eye turned, startled, she ran across the pitch and threw herself into his arms.

"Maudie!" He disengaged himself from the embrace with difficulty and held her at arm's length, his magical eye searching her for injuries, as he must have scanned Imogen. "You're all right," he said gruffly, sounding incredulous. "I thought I'd lost you. I tried to get to you, but -"

Maud looked back at Imogen, lying so unnaturally still, her body pulsing with blue and yellow light as Pomfrey and her companion cast healing spells over her, trying to isolate and stop the bleeding. "She saved my life," she whispered. "Uncle, if she dies..."

"Stop that." His voice was firm. "She's not going to die - she's as tough as they come. When I found her, she'd beaten your old friend Muriel, fought her way into the middle of the battle and was just about to take on Walden MacNair, even though she could barely stand upright. She'll pull through, I've no doubt of it."

All of which, thought Maud wretchedly, was Alastor Moody code for _She's dying and I don't want to think about it._ But there was no point distressing her uncle by telling him that, so she took a deep breath and nodded, as though his words had reassured her.

"Saw George Weasley too, not that long ago." Mad-Eye scratched the back of his head and looked around, as though not quite sure what to do with himself now that he was off the battlefield. "He seemed all right, though his robes didn't quite fit him. He'd been taking Polyjuice earlier on, I suppose?"

Maud nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Hmph," said her uncle. "There's a story in all this, no doubt. Look, Maudie..." Now he looked even more awkward. "I'm sorry about Snape. From what I could hear he made a brave show, at the end..."

Which was, in its way, a compliment. In spite of the tightness in her throat and the cold fear that gripped her stomach with every thought of Imogen, Maud managed a smile. "I'm afraid you're not quite rid of the threat of having Severus for a nephew-in-law," she started to say, but on the third word she was drowned out by a sound like a thunderclap, and the sky lit up with a burst of dazzling green light. Startled, she grabbed her uncle's arms for support - but then his charred wooden leg snapped, and they both went crashing to the ground.

Alastor Moody swore passionately. "What in the name of all that's holy -"

"I don't know." Maud disentangled herself from him with an effort and sat up again. "I'm sorry, Uncle. Are you all right?"

"Miss Moody - Maud!" cried McGonagall from the other side of the pitch, with an odd mewing note in her voice that could have been fear, or excitement, or both. "Come here, quickly!"

"Go on," said Mad-Eye, heaving himself up onto his elbows. "I'm fine, lass - just go."

Maud got to her feet and hurried to meet McGonagall, who was practically running circles in her agitation. "Look!" she said, pointing with one paw to the figures lying prone between the goalposts.

Another brilliant flash lit the sky, half-blinding Maud. She squinted in the direction McGonagall had indicated, blinking in a futile attempt to clear the light spots from her vision. "I'm sorry," she began, "but I don't -"

And then she saw it. The fragile-looking boy beside Severus had moved. Just a spasm, Maud thought, afraid to hope for more; but then the boy stirred again, sat up - and sneezed. McGonagall laid a paw on his leg, her green eyes searching his face; he rubbed his eyes and said dubiously, "Professor McGonagall?"

#

In later years, historians would write that not until Harry Potter came limping onto the battlefield, very much alive and no longer bearing any trace of his famous scar, did anyone realise that Voldemort was dead. But for Maud the moment of truth came well before that, as she knelt beside the recumbent figure of the man she loved, and watched him open his eyes.

"Do you know me?" she said, very softly.

He gave one slow, disbelieving blink. Then he said, in a voice husky with disuse, "Not nearly as well as I should like."

Maud put her hands over her mouth, holding back both laughter and tears. "Then," she said as soon as she could trust herself to speak, "we'll just have to do something about that."

"As soon as possible, I think," agreed Severus equitably, and sat up. "With all these Ministry people about, there must be someone with the necessary credentials. And since we no longer seem to have anything to hide..."

"You mean - you want to get married here? Right now?"

"Ideally, yes. Preferably in a quiet corner somewhere, before our well-meaning friends and acquaintances descend upon us en masse and force us into some sort of - _public spectacle_."

The curl of his lip was eloquent, and Maud, who had never thought to see that sneer again, broke into a smile of genuine delight. A large formal wedding ceremony had never been one of her ambitions either - and besides, the two people she most wanted to witness her vows were already close at hand. So there was no hesitation in her voice as she said, "All right, why not? I'll see how Imogen -"

"Harry!" cried a girl's voice from the other side of the stands, sounding nearly hysterical with excitement. "Oh, Harry, Harry -!"

Snape's lips thinned. "If I never hear that name again," he began with a touch of his old sourness, and then stopped, staring down at his arm where the sleeve had fallen back.

"What is it?" asked Maud.

His fingers touched the skin, tracing the outline of a mark no longer there. From wrist to elbow, his forearm was smooth and unblemished. "It's gone," he said, and then he threw back his head and laughed aloud, a genuine laugh such as she had never heard him give in public. "Voldemort is dead!"

"And your friend is alive, Maud," said Madam Pomfrey's voice from behind them. "It was very close, but I believe she will make a full recovery, in time."

Maud gave Severus a swift glance, then jumped to her feet and ran to the cot where Imogen lay, pale and drawn, but with open eyes now mercifully unshadowed by pain. She took the other woman's hand in hers, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and murmured in her ear, "Imogen. Do you think you might be up to a wedding?"

"Well, I've thought about it," came the whispered reply, "but I'm sure Alastor won't have me."

Mad-Eye snorted. "Irrepressible wench. You never take anything seriously, do you?"

Imogen gave a faint smile. "Who says I don't take you seriously?"

"I do," growled Alastor Moody. "But if I were you, woman, I wouldn't be so sure you shouldn't."

It might have been the words, or the roguish wink that accompanied them, but in either case the effect was unprecedented: for the first time in Maud's experience, Imogen Crump was left completely speechless.

#

"You did _what?"_ said George incredulously.

He and Maud were sitting high in the Quidditch stands, eating sandwiches made up by the indefatigable though somewhat over-excited house-elves, and comparing notes on the battle that had ended some two hours before. Voldemort's death had dealt a crippling blow to his army's morale, but even at that many of the Dark Lord's servants chose to fight to the death rather than surrender, while others made a concerted effort to escape and had to be tracked down. And even once the fighting ceased, there had been a great deal of work for everyone, especially the medical staff.

Nevertheless, all was quiet now. At the foot of the stands Imogen lay sleeping peacefully on her cot, with a snoring Mad-Eye stretched out on the grass beside her; and out of the corner of her eye Maud could just see her newly wedded husband, his long slender hands weaving emphatic gestures as he talked to Professor McGonagall.

"We got married," Maud repeated patiently. "Imogen and my uncle acted as witnesses. I'd hoped you might get here in time to see it, but they said you were with Harry..."

"You married Snape." George shook his head and stared out at the horizon, where the first faint glow of dawn was beginning to appear. "Maud, do you have any idea what that _means?"_

Maud shifted a little on the bench and curled her leg under her, considering. "Well, for one thing," she said at last, "it means that for the next couple of weeks Hogwarts will have a cat filling in as Headmaster, or at least until McGonagall takes the last dose of the potion Severus is telling her about. It means that Jennet and Lucinda will be furious, until I tell them they can have an enormous party as soon as we get back. And I'm very much afraid it also means that you're going to have to pay Fred those ten Galleons."

George groaned. "I'm still hoping he's forgotten."

There was a moment's silence, and then Maud said more seriously, "You're not angry with me, are you?"

He looked over at her, surprised. "Nah. Why should I be? You've waited a long time for this. If it'd been up to me, I'd have eloped with Jennet, too." He dropped an arm about her shoulders and gave her a fraternal squeeze. "I'm glad for you, Maud, really. Glad you're happy, I mean. Because you deserve to be."

"Thank you," she said softly. "Not just for that, but for everything else you've done. I owe you so much, George -"

"None of that," he said, looking embarrassed. "There's no need."

"No, really, I -"

He held up his hand. "Enough. I mean it, Maud: any more earnest sentiments, and I'm going to have to drop a dungbomb on your uncle just to lighten the atmosphere." He leaned forward, his face suddenly alive with interest. "I wonder if I could really hit him from this angle?"

Maud didn't believe for one second that George had brought dungbombs to the Battle of Hogwarts, but she got the point, and changed the subject. "So tell me," she said. "Is Harry going to be all right, do you think?"

George grimaced. "Dunno. He's had a pretty rough time of it, and right now I think all he wants to do is crawl off in a corner somewhere and hide. But he's not likely to get the chance, especially once the word gets out about what happened."

"I still don't know about that part," admitted Maud. "What did happen, exactly?"

He told her everything he knew, beginning from the moment he had left her with Voldemort at the pavilion and ending with his last glimpse of Harry, heading wearily back into Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione by his side. It was then that Maud learned, for the first time, of the house-elves' unexpected contribution to the battle, and Hagrid's timely return; of Ron and Hermione's discovery of the real traitor within Hogwarts, and Draco's broken nose; of the sudden change of heart that had saved Harry from capture and cost Wormtail his life; and, finally, of the last battle between Harry, Voldemort, and - of all people - Neville Longbottom, which George, running to the scene, had witnessed firsthand.

He was just finishing up his story when a voice called up from below, "Oi! George! You owe me ten Galleons, you skiver!"

Maud and George both looked down, to see Fred waving at them from the base of the stands. No sooner had the two of them waved back, however, than Fred stepped aside to reveal a second person standing behind him. George let out a startled exhalation, and without another word he leaped to his feet, clattered down the stands, and vaulted onto the pitch. As he swept Jennet up his arms and swung her around, Maud could just make out her muffled, tear-choked voice:

"You're alive - I was so worried - I'm going to _kill_ you -"

The words broke off abruptly, as George silenced her with a kiss. Fred grinned at them, then came rattling up the stands and plopped himself down beside Maud. "Glossop says hello, by the way," he said. "She also said to tell Snape she doesn't think much of his sense of humour. I suspect that coming back to her house last night to find it full of sleepy and confused eleven-year-olds was not precisely her idea of fun."

Euphemia Glossop was as well-informed as ever, it seemed. As Maud watched another figure ascending the stands toward them, keeping carefully out of Fred's line of vision and moving with the silent deliberation of a panther, she found herself wondering how Severus had managed to get the children from Hogsmeade to Glossop's house - not to mention what he had done with the rest of the underage students. But no doubt she would find that out in due time.

"I'm sure she'll get over it," she said, and gave Fred's hand a welcoming squeeze. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too. Hey, I hear congratulations are in order - or should that be condolences?"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley," came a menacing, silky voice from behind them, and Fred gave such a violent start that he nearly fell out of his seat.

"Wait a minute," he sputtered, when he had recovered enough to speak. "You can't do that!"

"No," agreed Snape with equanimity, "of course not. But I am pleased to see that you retain a healthy fear of my authority, nonetheless." He bared his teeth in the briefest flash of a smile, then turned to Maud. "Are you ready to go?"

She looked up into his face, at the eyes shadowed by weariness yet creased at the corners with hidden laughter, the thin mouth with its slightly upturned corners; the lines of his face revealing not only the formidable intelligence that had never been a secret and the integrity she had always known was there, but also a third thing, utterly new: joy.

"Yes," she said, and rose to take the hand he held out to her. Turning back to her chastened former schoolmate, she added with a smile of her own:

"Congratulations, Fred. _Definitely_ congratulations."

Then she slipped her arm through her husband's, and they walked down to the pitch together.


	12. Epilogue: And Makes Me End

Epilogue: As That Comes Home

_The storm has passed, leaving her wet and windblown, but unharmed. Beneath the silver moon the smooth, dark waves roll in, surging against the beach, then receding with a sigh. Until this moment she has been distracted by memories, unaware of any presence but her own; now she cries out in surprise as a pair of strong arms fold about her from behind, pulling her into an unexpectedly crushing embrace..._

#

"Maud?" said a tremulous voice from the other side of the door, and then, in a tone of near-hysteria, _"Maud!"_

The door burst open, hitting the wall behind it with a bang. Startled, Maud looked up from her nearly-packed suitcase to see Lucinda - clad in a faded bathrobe, her hair still tangled from sleep - come flying into the room. Maud dropped the pile of clothes she'd been holding and turned to catch her flat-mate by the elbows. "I'm here," she said, in her most reassuring tone. "It's all right."

Lucinda gulped, and the words came tumbling out of her: "You didn't come home from work last night, and I was so _worried,_ Maud, you can't imagine - I had to take a potion to get myself to sleep, and I must have taken too much because I didn't even hear you come in - and _what is that man doing on our sofa?"_

"Sleeping, I hope," said Maud, wincing at the shrill note in Lucinda's voice.

"But who _is_ he?"

Maud was startled. "You really don't know?"

"Well, I didn't look at him very closely, I was too surprised..." Lucinda paused, blinking. "You mean I _ought_ to know?"

It was hard not to smile. "Yes, you should."

Lucinda gave her a puzzled look, then turned and padded out the door. Maud followed her. Quietly they approached the sofa where their guest lay with eyes closed, and Maud watched Lucinda's expression change from bewilderment to incredulity as she whispered, "Is that... _Professor Snape?"_

It was easy to see, now, why Lucinda had not recognised him at once. While Maud had been deciding what to pack - a laborious process, thanks to her exhausted state - Severus had disappeared into the bathroom with shaving kit in hand, and emerged a man transformed.

Not only had he given himself a thorough wash, removing all trace of grease from his hair and yellow stain from his teeth in the process, but he had trimmed two inches of ragged ends from his hair and exchanged his habitual black robes for deep indigo. If Maud had not already known what Severus Snape looked like - and indeed _was_ like - despite the unpleasant guise he had worn so long, she would have had difficulty recognising him herself.

"Yes," she said, no longer holding back her smile. "Yes, it is."

Lucinda frowned at Snape, then her eyes flicked to the pot of night-lilies on the table, and Maud could practically hear the puzzle pieces clicking together in her mind. In haste Maud steered Lucinda away from the sofa and back into the bedroom, shutting the door and clapping a hand over her friend's mouth just in time to muffle her scream.

"You mean it's _true?"_ Lucinda gasped out as soon as Maud let her go. "You and Snape - it wasn't just a mad joke of Muriel's that got out of hand?"

"I couldn't tell you," said Maud in a whisper, making _keep it down_ gestures. "We couldn't tell anyone, until it was safe."

"Those _boxers!"_ burst out Lucinda, almost beside herself.

"What? Oh." Maud looked guiltily at the square of black silk tucked into a corner of the suitcase. "Yes, Imogen knew, but I wasn't the one who told her. George figured it out on his own, too -"

"Not that," Lucinda wailed, wringing her hands. "Maud, it's just - this is _Snape_ we're talking about. It's so -" She stopped, eyes widening in dawning horror. "You're packing a suitcase. _He_ had a suitcase."

Maud took a deep, bracing breath. "Yes. We're just about to go on our honeymoon."

_"What?" _said Lucinda, only it came out more like "Wha-ha-ha-ha-t?"

"Look," said Maud, giving up. "Lucinda. I don't mean to be difficult, but I've been up all night, and I can barely think, let alone answer a lot of questions. All I want right now is to finish what I'm doing, have a nice hot bath, and go to sleep for a few hours. So please, if you want to know what's been going on, just read the _Daily Prophet._ Or listen to the wireless - quietly."

"Your wedding made the _news?" _said Lucinda dubiously, then relented. "Oh, all right. But you owe me the whole story when you get back. Or at least -" she gave a little shudder - "the parts I can stand to hear."

Maud nodded wearily, then reached past her and opened the door. Lucinda, taking the hint, gave her a nervous flash of a smile and slipped out. Maud was just about to close the door again when she heard her flatmate whisper from the living room, "Well, I will admit, he doesn't look _quite_ as horrible as he used to."

"Thank you," said a sleepily sardonic voice from the sofa.

Lucinda jumped, gave a little squeak of alarm, and vanished into the kitchen. And to Maud's relief, she did not interrupt either one of them again.

#

"Do you trust me?" said Severus softly in Maud's ear. His hands were on her shoulders; she could feel the warmth of his body against her back.

"All my life," she replied, her voice not quite steady.

A length of soft cloth came down in front of her face, wrapped gently about her eyes. She could feel him tie the knot behind her head, pulling the blindfold tight; then he turned her around to face him and said, "If this brings back any unfortunate memories, tell me."

"Memories, yes, but none unfortunate," she said, smiling at him through the darkness. For a moment she felt his breath warm her lips, knew that he was about to kiss her; then he seemed to reconsider, and pulled back. Probably for the best, she thought wryly. They had already scandalised poor Lucinda enough.

It was mid-afternoon, and they stood before the fireplace in the living room of Maud's flat, with their suitcases at their feet. Snape had awakened first, and spent some time making arrangements for their accommodation at a place he would not name; between that and the blindfold, he was clearly looking forward to her reaction when they arrived. Maud resolved not to disappoint him.

"You can pick up your suitcase now," he said, and Maud did so. She had just straightened up again when she felt Severus's arm slide about her waist, drawing her close against him.

"Goodbye," said Lucinda's voice timidly, from somewhere on the other side of the room. "Have... er, have a nice time."

Maud raised a hand to wave farewell - and felt herself pulled into the floating blankness of Disapparation. She counted seconds in the emptiness: one, two -

"That was short," she said in surprise.

Although her eyes were still blindfolded, she could feel sunlight on her face, smell roses and honeysuckle, hear a distant droning of bees and a liquid rill of birdsong. The stillness of the air, however, and the floorboards beneath her feet, told her that they were indoors.

"Do you want me to guess where we are?" she asked uncertainly.

She could hear the smile in her husband's voice. "No. You could not, even if you tried." He turned her gently around and steered her across the room; then his fingers worked at the knot behind her head, loosening the blindfold. "I only wanted you to see - this."

The cloth fell away from her eyes, and Maud found herself looking out an open bay window at a magnificent view of rambling gardens and rolling downland, with the sea lying tranquil in the distance. She drew in a sharp breath of astonished pleasure. "It's... beautiful. Severus, how -"

"This cottage," said Snape from behind her, "belongs, or rather belonged, to a distant relative, an old man of eccentric habits and some notoriety in the Muggle world. When I was very young, I paid a brief visit here, and the memory never quite left me. So when I learned several years ago that it was for sale, I made arrangements to purchase it."

He hesitated slightly on the word _arrangements_, and Maud wondered what it had cost him; he was not, she guessed, a wealthy man. On the other hand, he lived at Hogwarts for most of the year, with all expenses paid and a salary on top of it - so perhaps he was not so badly off.

She turned slowly from the window, gazing about the room in which they stood. It was a wide rectangle that looked as though it had once been two separate rooms, airy and well-lit, with flint walls and oaken floorboards, and an enormous stone fireplace at one end. Like Snape's bedchamber at Hogwarts it was rather Spartan in its decor, but the sofa and armchairs looked to be of excellent quality, as did the Oriental carpet spread out beneath them.

From the south wall, a set of French doors opened onto to a flagstone terrace that faced the sea; from the north, a narrow doorway led into a well-appointed, though conspicuously Muggle, kitchen. And in the far corner stood an oak-panelled staircase, inviting them to the upper floor.

"May I?" she asked almost shyly, gesturing toward the stair.

Snape looked amused. "By all means." He reached over and took the suitcase from her hand, setting it down beside his own. "My house is yours. Literally."

Her heartbeat quickening, Maud put her foot on the first step, acutely conscious of Severus's presence close behind her. "I have Muggle neighbours," he said as they ascended the stair together, "including a woman who looks after the house in my absence, and sometimes lets it to visitors when I have no need of it - which is most of the time. So there are few wizarding conveniences here, and those that do exist are well hidden." He stopped, looking up at her with brows raised. "I hope that doesn't disappoint you too much."

"Disappoint me-" She gave a breathless laugh. "No, not at all."

"Good." He walked up the final few stairs to stand beside her. "Let me show you the rest of the house, then. The bathroom is here -" He opened a door off the landing to reveal a small tiled space with a deep, claw-footed bath and pedestal sink - "and the laboratory is -"

"Laboratory?" said Maud blankly.

"At the back of the cottage, yes. It was one of the features I found most memorable about this place when I first came here. The original owner - who was, as I said, an Eccentric - had a passion for chemical experiments. Would you like to see it?"

She turned to him then, and looked him in the eyes: a long, steady gaze, betraying none of the fluttering excitement that had been building in her since the moment she set foot upon the stair. "No," she said.

Something shifted in his face then, leaving it unguarded. "I have been trying," he said with a touch of huskiness, "to be self-restrained. And I was doing well, I think... until now."

Still, he did not move, and in the end it was Maud who took his face between her hands, as she had done once before, and drew his mouth down to hers. They shared a long, achingly slow kiss, while he held her as though she were a soap bubble, or an illusion that he feared would dissipate at any moment. She tightened her arms about him, murmuring against his lips, "You don't have to hold back, Severus. Not any more."

He did not answer in words: he simply picked her up off the floor with an ease that took her by surprise, and carried her down the corridor into the bedroom. When he put her down, she turned to find herself confronted with an enormous four-poster bed, heaped with pillows and spread with a white duvet.

"Will it be comfortable enough, do you think?" said Severus from behind her. The question was meant to sound casual, and it very nearly succeeded, but his breathing gave him away. As did hers, when she replied:

"I think so - yes."

His arms slid about her waist, pulling her back against him and holding her tightly. He murmured into her hair, "You do realize, this is a dream."

"Mine, or yours?"

"Oh, mine, without a doubt." There was a note of wry self-mockery in his voice. "After all, it would strain anyone's credulity to believe that this is what _you_ want."

She turned in his embrace, pushed him gently backward, freeing herself. "Believe it," she whispered, and her fingers went to the clasp of her robes.

#

Eighteen months they had spent apart from each other, and their last private moment had been haunted by grief and constraint; now they were together at last, with nothing and no one between them. As they tumbled on to the bed in a tangle of bare limbs, her arms encircling him fiercely and her fingers gripping the back of his neck, the last of his self-control gave way, and his mouth came down hard on hers. She felt then, for the first time, the full and overwhelming force of the passion they had both fought so long to restrain, and she laughed aloud with the exhilaration of offering, at last, a complete and unconditional surrender.

Later, as they lay together in the delicious weariness of consummation, Maud reached over and touched her lover's face. Her fingers searched the lines and angles of his features, defining them by touch, as she would have done if she were still blind; but she could see as well as feel the man who shared the comfort of this cool white bed with her, and her hands did not stop there. She watched his eyes closely for signs of self-betrayal as she explored his shoulders and the lean muscles of his arms, tracing his fingers one by one and at last, on an impulse, lifting them to her lips. He made an incoherent sound, and she laughed in delight, revelling in a power she had never before known herself to possess.

_"Now _do you believe it?" she asked breathlessly, raising herself to see him better, her hands braced on his shoulders.

He looked up at her, his black eyes unfathomable. "I never thought that I would have this," he said in an unfamiliar voice, low and earnest, without a trace of sarcasm or bitterness. "Least of all with someone who loved me, and whom... I... would love." His mouth bent slowly into a faint, wondering smile, and he reached up through the curtain of her hair to touch her cheek. "Maud. My wife. I may not be able to shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower as promised, but I can and will say it to you, now: I love you."

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed him. "But, you know, you _did_ shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower." She lay back down, folding her arms across his chest and resting her chin on them. "Though perhaps not in so many words. Still, I think everyone got the message, don't you?"

The languid movement of his hands through her hair stilled, and his smile faded. "It will be a long time, Maud, before I can speak lightly about anything that happened last night. When Voldemort put the Cruciatus Curse on you..." His voice trailed off into silence. Maud waited, watching his face, until he spoke again: "Coming down off that tower was, perhaps, the one completely uncalculated thing I can remember doing in my entire life."

"You didn't know, then, that you were protected from Avada Kedavra? Because of Dumbledore...?"

He shook his head. "He never told me what was in his mind when he went to meet Voldemort that day. We had talked before about the possibility of his death at Voldemort's hands, and how best to protect Hogwarts should the worst happen. In that much, at least, I knew my part. But I never knew that when he died... he would die for me."

He did not weep, speaking of Dumbledore: those tears had been shed long ago. But he closed his eyes, and Maud felt his chest rise with the long intake of his breath. She pressed her face against the hollow of his throat, kissed the pulse beating there, until she heard his breathing grow ragged: then she rolled over, pulling him down to her, silently urging him to forget what had almost been - and even what had been - and think only of this moment, now.

It was a long time before either one of them could speak, or wished to. But at last Snape raised himself up on one elbow, arched a black eyebrow at her and said, in the low silky voice that had always sent a thrill through her even before she knew what the feeling meant: "Now would you like to see the laboratory?"

Maud smiled. "No," she said, stretching her arms above her head with a sigh of contentment. The little red book of marital charms, which she had reviewed in some depth last night, had proved exceedingly helpful; despite the ardency with which she and Severus had consummated their love, her newly wakened body felt nothing but pleasant languor. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life right here."

"Somehow I doubt that," said her husband, "as much as I agree with the sentiment that inspired it." He picked up his wand from the bedside table. _"Accio_ suitcases!"

"Oh, that reminds me," said Maud, sitting up and retrieving her own wand as the suitcases came floating through the open door. _"Accio_ boxers," she said, and presented the neatly folded square of silk to Snape.

He gave her a dubious sidelong glance, then shook them out and held them up to the light. As he saw the cauldrons, his expression shifted from incomprehension to horror, and Maud hugged her knees and laughed until she could hardly breathe.

"Bloody Imogen Crump again," he said acidly, wadding the boxers up and throwing them into the corner. "As usual, her sense of humour leaves something to be desired."

"Are you so sure it was Imogen?" said Maud, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Absolutely. I refuse to believe that _you_ would perpetrate such an atrocity."

She smiled up at him. "You're right. But oh, the _look_ on your face -" She began to laugh again, helplessly, as his lip curled into a self-parodying sneer. Then a dangerous gleam came into his eyes, and Maud's laughter ended abruptly as he pulled her over on top of him and silenced her mouth with his.

#

Eventually he fell asleep, his face relaxed as a child's, and she lay watching him for a long time before easing herself out of the bed and beginning to dress. Quietly she walked to the window, and looked out across the downs toward the sea.

Storm-clouds had begun to gather along the horizon, but they looked to be some distance away; and though the light was beginning to fade, it would surely last for some time yet. In any case, she did not mean to go very far, or stay too long. But she felt the need to walk, and think, alone, and try to absorb this momentous thing that had just happened. Not merely the amazing intimacy she had just shared with Severus, but what it represented, and how their union had come about in spite of the myriad obstacles that seemed destined to prevent it.

She let the curtain drop and turned to put on her boots. Stumbling a little as she did so, she grabbed the bedpost for support, rocking the bed a little and provoking from Severus a drowsy interrogative "Mmmm?"

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm just going out for a walk."

There was no response; he had already gone back to sleep. Maud reached over, and gently drew a strand of black hair away from his closed eyes; then she slipped out the door, and closed it behind her.

#

_"What," says Snape's voice in her ear, rough with emotion, "in the name of reason and common sense do you think you're doing out here?"_

_She turns to face him, burying her face against his chest. "I'm so sorry," she gasps, relieved and grateful and embarrassed all at once. "I got caught up in my thoughts, and the weather didn't seem very threatening at first..."_

_He draws back a little, looking down at her, eyes stern and mouth unsmiling. "I would not have taken it well," he says, "if you had contrived to get yourself killed by hanging about like a complete dunderhead on a cliff's edge in the middle of a thunderstorm. In fact, I would have taken it very badly indeed."_

_"I'm sorry," she says again, lamely._

_"Of course, if you have decided that the company of the elements is more congenial than mine, I can hardly blame you; but it might be courteous to give me just _one_ more chance..."_

_She starts to laugh, but is arrested by the sudden seriousness in his eyes. "Maud," he says. "Truly. If you have any regrets, any misgivings, I need to hear them. I have lived with lies far too long to want to live with another."_

_"Regrets!" The word is shocked out of her, and her hands tighten on his arms. "About you? Never."_

_"Not about me, perhaps. But about the life we will lead together, what the future holds..." He pauses. "We never really talked about those things, you and I. No doubt you felt, as I did, that if we ever lived to see our wedding day it would be a miracle, and that to imagine anything beyond that would be presumption. But it occurs to me now that I may have been... short-sighted."_

_Oddly touched by his concern, she reaches up, laying her hand against his cheek. "In all honesty," she says, "I never thought of those things. No doubt we can make our decisions about the future together, when the time comes. But whether you choose to go back to Hogwarts, or patent our nerve-regenerating potion and live off the profits, or retire to the Muggle world in a last attempt to avoid Harry Potter - I will stand by you, I will still be your wife, and I will go on loving you. Always."_

_He lets out his breath. "Then what," he says with an obvious effort at patience, "are you doing out here?"_

_"Musing back over the past, instead of living in the present. Thinking about how much I love you and how very much I have missed you, when I ought to have been with you." She gives him an embarrassed smile. "In short, being a dunderhead."_

_"Ah," he says gravely. "Well, I am not sure the root of the problem can be dealt with on short notice, but the effects certainly can. May I suggest, Miss Moody, that you come home with me? I think a bath and some potions are called for."_

_He is right, of course. Her hair is a wet tangle, and her clothes are sodden, disheveled, and streaked with mud; she must look far more unattractive just now, she thinks ruefully, than he has ever done. Not to mention the folly she has just confessed, which is hardly flattering either - yet no sooner has she framed the thought than she feels herself pulled back into his arms, and there in the moonlit darkness by the cliff's edge, his lips find hers._

_When at last he lets her go, he does not speak again. He simply holds out his hand, and she takes it._

_"Yes," she says, softly, her eyes holding his dark ironical ones, her fingers twining with his. "Let's go home."_

THE END


End file.
